Eventide
by Spiritslayer
Summary: Skyrim's bandits have become bolder in recent months, taking over towns and kidnapping residents. When a trusted friend of High King Ulfric Stormcloak - the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold - begins to investigate, everyone involved learns there's far more to this uprising than they think. What does a Daedric Prince have to do with the unfolding chaos? (M for the future.)
1. Prologue

Slow, cautious footfalls echoed throughout the chilly cavern, accompanied erratically by the crunch of ice and snow underfoot. The sound drew the attention of a group of skeevers toward the general direction of the source; one of the skeevers drew back, as if preparing to lunge.

A figure appeared in the stony corridor, and the skeever lunged at the figure. The figure was holding a long blade, however, and brought the sharp edge of the sword to pass through the skeever's side. It shrieked in agony and writhed on the ground, blood pooling on the icy stone beneath it.

The other skeevers rushed the figure, and were cut down one by one. The figure didn't even appear to be worried or frightened, more annoyed than anything. Most of the skeevers died from a single swing of the blade; those that survived joined the first in its situation, bleeding out and incapable of movement.

It was these survivors that the figure decapitated, ending their suffering. The final skeever to be slain had tried to escape, but its wound was too great and inhibited its movements. The figure could almost swear tears had come to the skeever's eyes, but surmised it was a trick of the dim light.

The figure sighed softly, the sound soft and feminine. The greatsword was shifted so the blood-stained blade could be cleaned off with a cloth, before it was returned to its spot at the figure's back. A moment later, a small stick was in the figure's hand, a cloth wrapped around the top; another moment, and the cloth was burning, providing some much-needed light.

The flame of the makeshift torch lit the figure's face, warmed her tanned skin. Dark brown, shoulder-length hair framed her face and hid her eyes from view, though she tucked several locks of hair out of her face. Her emerald eyes looked about carefully, making sure nothing else was going to ambush her now that she'd made herself even more visible. She eventually nodded to herself, and closed her eyes for a brief moment, taking the chance to relax.

A shiver overtook her, however, and she was on the move before long. Her scaled armor didn't provide the greatest protection against the cold, nor did the crimson linen cloak she wore, but they functioned well enough. She knew she had to keep moving if she was going to keep warm.

As she progressed through the cavern, she took note of the furniture that adorned the 'rooms' here and there. A table in one, a bookshelf in another... there were even beds dotted here and there. People used to live here, then - but it seemed as if no one else had moved in since. She hadn't found any bodies in the cavern, so she surmised that someone had come through and cleared the corpses out.

There were more skeevers further in, however. She didn't even bother drawing her sword, but rather bashed each one to death with the torch; the one skeever that managed to actually lunge at her found the burning tip wedged in its mouth, and tried to run away when it dislodged the torch from its mouth; she had stepped on its tail to keep it in place, however, and rammed the blazing tip against the skeever's back, causing it to shriek and writhe in pain. When it tried to whip around and bite her foot, she delivered a sharp kick to its head, knocking it unconscious.

She knew it was brutal, to treat the beasts as she was, but she also knew that they were trying to kill her, and she was being so brutal in self-defense. Of course, there was a twisted part of her that did delight in the cruel displays, but that was beside the point.

And yet, it had been that side of her that caused her to seek refuge in some cave in the middle of nowhere in the first place. She'd caused no small amount of trouble in the newly reconstructed Helgen, and had fled east to escape capture. Though she was sure she'd lost the guards, she had nonetheless stopped inside the first cave along the road she'd seen. She would stay here a while longer, at least until she was certain she could slip out and into the Rift, where the reach of Falkreath's guards would not extend.

That, of course, meant she had to stay attentive. Just because she was sure she'd lost the guards didn't mean she had. For all she knew, they could be coming upon the cave's entrance, and would be upon her before long. The thought of being arrested was not enticing, and she pushed ahead to avoid it.

Eventually, an odd sight greeted her, certainly not something she'd been expecting to see. A tall stone statue of a man stood before her. In his left hand was held what appeared to be a mask with two curved horns; his right hand rested on the back of what appeared to be a dog. The woman stepped closer, glancing about. There were offerings of many kinds adorning the base of the statue, suggesting people had been here recently. She had no idea, then, if that meant others were nearby or not. Skeevers were one thing; people were another.

Once she decided she was quite alone, she lowered her guard and stopped in front of the statue. She looked up at it, examined the craftsmanship closely.

"_I promise I won't bite, mortal,_" rang out suddenly, making her jump. Her head snapped this way and that, searching for the source of the voice. The same voice laughed at her reaction, which in turn irritated her. "_In front of you._"

She refused to believe the statue was speaking to her, but she looked up at it nonetheless.

"_Very good._"

"Who... are you?" she asked softly, voice cracking from disuse. She cleared her throat, and took a few steps back so she wasn't looking up so sharply.

"_I could ask the same of you. Who are you to approach one of my shrines so casually? And with no offering, at that..._" Several 'tsk' sounds rang out now. She wasn't sure yet if the voice was echoing through the chamber... or in her mind.

"I didn't even know this... 'shrine' existed," she retorted. She searched briefly for a place where she could set her torch, to keep the statue lit and yet free up both of her arms.

"_Desolate hole that this is, I'm not surprised. You're clearly not a follower, then. A refugee, perhaps? A lost villager? Or... do you fancy yourself the 'greatest bandit to ever live'?_"

These last words both irked and stunned the woman. He was half-right in that: she was a bandit. She had never considered herself 'the best', but she did definitely think she was better than most other bandits she'd met.

"_Well, at any rate, unless you have an offering for me, I'm afraid you'll just have to leave. I don't tolerate loitering in my shrine._"

"And what sort of 'offering' do you want?" she said. She was disliking this... man? The voice, at any rate. He was quite arrogant, quite... she couldn't find the right word.

"_Take a look around, mortal, and figure something up._"

She did so. The most common offering was gold, though there were also pieces of what looked to be salted meat here and there, too. There was also a steel dagger, mostly hidden from her view, but still visible nonetheless. She decided gold was probably the way to go, and fished out her coin purse with a sigh and a grumble. She grabbed a fistful of coins and set the pile at the base of the statue. She wondered idly if he'd be offended if she took the coins back once their exchange was through.

"_Money, eh? No weapon to spark my imagination?_"

The only weapon she had on her was the greatsword at her back. She reached back to grab the hilt protectively.

"No one will ever take my blade from me," she snarled. "The only way I'll give it to anyone is to drive it through their chest and end their life."

"_A mortal of action, then? And here I thought you'd be boring, one for talking philosophy and all that rot._"

She couldn't tell if he was mocking her or not.

"_So, what can I do for you? What is your heart's desire?_"

She scoffed at these words. Like she was going to tell him that.

"_You doubt I could help you get anything you want? Do you even know who I am?_"

"You never introduced yourself, idiot," she snapped.

"_Watch your tone, mortal. I am Clavicus Vile, and with a snap of my fingers, I could snap your spine, break your neck, cave in your skull... or perhaps turn you into something small and defenseless, like... a baby skeever._"

His words left her stunned. She'd heard of Clavicus Vile before - nothing particularly good. The Daedric Prince of power and deals, notorious for striking up deals that mortals would regret.

"_Well? Were you just donating your coin for the sake of it?_"

"...How do I know you can give me what I desire?" she finally asked. "How do I know this isn't some... hoax?" It wasn't impossible that someone was nearby, pretending to be Clavicus Vile.

"_You want a demonstration, then? I can oblige you that, I suppose. Wish for something, anything. I'll make it come true - just this once, for nothing in return._"

The offer was enticing, but she knew to make sure it was small-scale, something she could bear witness to in the shrine. Thoughts of piles of gold filled her mind, but she pushed them down; it was impractical to wish for such when she had no means of getting the coins out in a single trip.

"Bring me that prick who got me into trouble in Helgen," she finally said. "I have... unfinished business with him."

The voice didn't say anything in response. At first, the woman thought the voice was plotting their escape - but then she saw the unmistakable wavering of the air in front of her. What appeared to be a violet portal opened, and stretched out until it was spherical and almost as tall as she was. She heard the sound of feet hitting the stony cavern floor, followed by a slew of curses from a man with a thick Nordic accent. When the portal faded, there was a Nord standing in front of her, shaggy blonde hair down at his shoulders, ice blue eyes narrowed at her.

"You!" he snapped, pointing an accusing finger at her. "I'll have your head for-"

This was all the proof she needed. Clavicus Vile was indeed speaking to her, this was indeed his shrine, and a realm of possibilities awaited her. Her mind began to reel from the potential, but she caught herself. She settled instead for slugging the Nord, causing his head to whip to the side and interrupting his tirade. While he recovered from the blow, she grabbed his collar and pulled him onto the tips of his toes with one hand.

"The only head that will go missing... is yours," she hissed angrily. She swung the torch against the man, battering him with the blazing implement. His clothes began to catch aflame, and before long, he was trying frantically to put the flames out. The distraction was more than enough for her; she was able to toss the torch aside, swing her greatsword around to her front, and thrust the tip of the blade through his gut.

Blood spurted from the wound and trickled from his mouth. He looked up at her, fear starting to overcome him.

"Because of you, I had to run away," she snarled. She twisted the greatsword, causing him to cry out; blood flowed freely from the wound now. She planted her foot against his chest and kicked him away from the blade, knocking him against the statue of Clavicus Vile. "Because of you, what should have been a simple job in Helgen turned into a fight for my life, followed by flight. All you had to do, bastard, was uphold your end of the bargain..." She lifted the greatsword over her head briefly. "I don't suffer traitors," she snapped, bringing the blade down. The sharp edge, swung at a diagonal angle, sliced through his neck effortlessly, severing his head from his body.

"_I trust that demonstration was sufficient enough._" Clavicus Vile sounded rather amused now.

"Absolutely." She buried the tip of her greatsword in the Nord's chest, and reached for her coin purse once more. "You'll want more of an offering-"

"_You have given me another already. Or is the dead Nord's corpse truly of so little value to you? No, this offering is far, far better than any amount of coin any mortal could possibly offer me. Mortal... you are interesting. Might you be willing to hear me out?_"

"Depends. What's in it for me if I do?" she replied coolly. She'd dealt with 'hear me out' types before; they typically wanted her to do dangerous things, just so they could try and stab her in the back when she wanted her promised reward.

"_Your heart's desire, of course. That which you long for the most, which you refuse to speak of to anyone._"

She shifted uneasily. Did he know what it was she longed for...?

"_Unlike other cretins you've dealt with in the past, you'll find me to be trustworthy, mortal. Do right by me, and I'll return the favor for you. Now... as it turns out, there's an issue I'd like to address, but... regrettably, I can't do it myself. The whole 'barrier between realms' thing, and all that... but you, mortal... you could act in my place._"

"Explain first," she said, crossing her arms.

"_I was getting there, mortal. Don't push your luck. Several years ago, I was... we'll say 'thwarted' by another. I've longed to get revenge for that... but I've never had the chance to exact my revenge until now. Well, that is, of course, assuming you agree to help me._"

"By who?"

"_Someone with a death wish. No one stands against me for very long without suffering consequences. It's no fun to simply kill them, however; I want them to know that their suffering is because of me, because of what they did to me._"

"Where do I fit into this?"

"_Simple. You are a mortal, and have access to the offending mortal that I do not. All you need to do is what I tell you, so as to help me get my revenge. Help me, and I shall help you._"

She had a feeling she was being toyed with. He was Clavicus Vile, after all. While she knew he had power - he'd demonstrated it, after all - she also knew that he could very well string her along, dangle a proverbial carrot in front of her just so she'd do his bidding. She'd never worked for anyone who refused to give her any payment or compensation upon completing certain... milestone-esque tasks.

"_You are a bandit, mortal. You are part of a group of bandits. They trust you, for the most part. The first thing I want you to do for me... take over your little group of bandits. Become the leader, and I shall tell you what comes next._"

She blinked at this. That wasn't quite as hard as she thought it'd be; she'd been contemplating doing just that for some time now, but hadn't given it serious thought.

"What does this have to do with your plan, Vile?" she finally asked, unable to figure out why it mattered.

"_Quite a bit, as you will see in the not-too-distant future._" A violet portal opened without warning in front of her, making her jump. She was only faintly aware of something hitting the ground with a dull 'thump'. When the portal closed, she found herself looking at a book. "_Incentive,_" he explained, noting her confused expression.

She knelt down, picked up the book, and examined it. She opened the pages, noticed they were blank. She furrowed her brow, and looked it over.

"What's-"

"_Finish the task I've given you, and I'll let you know what that book is. So, mortal... do we have a deal? You help me exact my revenge, and I give you what you long for?_"

She saw no reason to turn the offer down. True, there were the stories of past deals wrought with Clavicus Vile to consider, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew how to spot an unfavorable circumstance or deal a mile away. If he tried to pull a fast one on her, she'd know.

"We have a deal, Clavicus Vile," she said, clapping the book shut with one hand. "I'll serve you... for as long as it benefits me."

* * *

_**A.N. - **Oh snap, new story! Oh snap, Clavicus Vile and some mysterious person have joined forces! Oh snap, this chapter doesn't make a world of sense!_

_It will._

_Welcome to the story of **Eventide**, where old faces will be returning, new faces will be appearing, and some characters will be dying - permanently. All this leads up to something huge..._

_Don't want to say too much about this just yet, lest I spoil things. The next chapter will give a better understanding of the setting of **Eventide**._

_I had been working on **All In**, had the next chapter almost completely finished..._

_And then my computer died. Well, not 'died' died, but what seems to be a virus wiped the OS from my computer, and corrupted the recovery partition on my hard drive. This recovery partition is what's supposed to repair/reinstall the OS if the computer runs into the issue. There is no disc I can use to recover; instead, I'd have to burn all the data I need for a recovery disc to 4 blank DVDs. Which I do not have. I am never buying another HP computer in my life, for any reason; I've had some issues in the past, but a virus slipping by Norton, stacked on top of all sorts of previous issues, just makes me not give a shit._

_In the meantime, I'm using my old computer, an Acer. It's 5 years old, it works infinitely better than the HP ever did - albeit slower._

_This, of course, means I've lost all progress on **All In**. I remember the basic gist of the next chapter, but what with the recent issue, I'm just feeling horribly disinclined to write ANYTHING. I almost didn't write this opening chapter for a new story._

_Then there's the fact that I can play Skyrim on my Acer... but the graphics, the game lag... ugh. Sooo horrid in comparison to the HP. I've been playing Skyrim on my 360 instead, and there's no DLC there, no mods. It's been so... lackluster, so... DULL. The only way I foresee myself playing Skyrim on the Acer is to play as a stealth archer - which I do most of the time, but it removes the options of 'in your face warrior' or 'pew pew i'm a mage'. Seriously, the frame rate is so low, I couldn't even kill a FOX; the little bastard escaped from me, and in the time it took my computer to register 'oh, you're looking over here now?', the fox was gone._

_It's probably cheaper to buy blank data DVDs for the recovery discs, but I'm seriously considering just buying a new computer altogether. HP has left a horrid taste in my mouth, and at this point, I'm trying to figure out why I haven't just smashed the damned thing on the pavement, or tossed it in the trash._

_/endrant_

_Anyway, that's where my life's been. I similarly lost the Valentine's Day story I'd started, with Mia and Adalla... and I just couldn't bring myself to rewrite it on the Acer. By the time I decided I wanted to write, V-Day was done and gone._

_I'll see what I can do on the Acer in the meantime, I guess._

_-Spiritslayer_


	2. Familiar Faces

A series of knocks on the door snapped the Altmer out of her doldrums. She turned her attention to the door.

"Yes?"

"Arch-Mage, I was... wondering if you were busy?" The voice was that of a woman, one very familiar to the Altmer. She felt a smile creep to her lips at the question, and at the revelation of who was on the other side of the door.

"Not terribly," she replied, looking into the mirror. She began to run her fingers through her pale blonde hair, which hung loose about her shoulders and reached down to her lower back. "Enter."

She watched the door open in the mirror, and watched the reflection of a Dunmer step into her quarters. The young mer's black hair, which typically came down to her upper back, was pulled into a braid over her shoulder. The Dunmer's dark red eyes met the Altmer's green eyes in the mirror.

"You're leaving," the Dunmer pointed out, gesturing to the Altmer's attire.

The Arch-Mage of Winterhold only shrugged in response. It was true that she only wore such formal attire as she now was when she traveled: a blue dress with a soft fur collar that not only hugged her neck comfortably, but also came over her shoulders. A few pieces of jewelry hung about her neck and adorned her fingers, as well. She wore finely crafted black boots that she knew many other upper-class citizens typically wore.

"Windhelm?" the younger mer pressed.

"Windhelm." The Altmer continued to run her fingers through her hair.

A sigh escaped the Dunmer, causing the elder mer's hand to stop.

"You don't approve," the Arch-Mage stated.

"Arch-Mage, with all due-"

"How many times must I tell you? Call me Runael. You may be my apprentice, Elsera, but we were friends before that." She chuckled softly as the Dunmer sighed.

"True, but you _are_ still the Arch-Mage, and I am still one of the students at the College... and your apprentice besides."

"And if I had my way, Tolfdir would be Arch-Mage," Runael said simply. They were quiet for a few moments longer. "Anyway, you were saying...?"

"With all due respect, Arch- Runael," she corrected, noting the Altmer's amused look in the mirror, "is heading to Windhelm truly a good idea? The last time you went-"

"The last time I went, it was a misunderstanding. I have been reassured that the drunken lout that took a swing at me was punished for assaulting a guest of our most esteemed High King."

"Since when have you taken Ulfric's word as fact on any topic?" Elsera asked, brow quirked.

"Never, but he's never misled me. I think. Well, there was that one time, a few years ago... but that was a misunderstanding on both of our parts..." Runael tapped her chin briefly.

"My point," the younger mer said with a small roll of her eyes, "is that Windhelm is still not a haven for anyone other than Nords... now that the war's over, that's never been more true."

Runael gave a small, silent nod. She was thinking about how the civil war had ended four years ago.

With the aid of a rather talented and effective Stormcloak recruit, Ulfric Stormcloak had managed to seize Whiterun. From there, the Empire continued to lose its grip in Skyrim, and the battle came to a close in what she understood to be the bloodiest clash, at Solitude. The promising recruit had lost their life in that battle, but it hadn't stopped Ulfric from defeating General Tullius and ending the Legion's forces in Skyrim. For months following, the Stormcloaks had purged the province of Imperial camps and stamped out any anti-Stormcloak resistance. Ulfric had been named High King by the Jarls, and he relocated the capital of Skyrim to Windhelm.

With their victory over the Empire, the Stormcloaks began to assert their own rule and laws over Skyrim. For the most part, Imperials were forbidden from entering the province unless they had urgent business - which most didn't. Altmer were also forbidden from entering Skyrim anymore, on suspicion of being allied with the Thalmor. Dunmer were permitted into the province, but were treated quite poorly in most cases; many were the Dunmer who chose to travel to Solstheim and make their home in Raven Rock, which flourished once again.

It had not been easy for Runael, living in Skyrim since Ulfric's ascension to High King, but she had endured. She knew she was one of the few Altmer Ulfric trusted, if not the only one; to him, she was not 'Altmer', but rather 'Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold'. He saw to it that anyone who dared insult her based solely on her race was punished.

"Ulfric knows I'm good at getting out of trouble," Runael finally said. She resumed running her fingers through her hair, though it was slower and more absent-minded this time. "I also have his trust, as he has mine."

"Trust between man and mer will only ever be so strong," Elsera murmured.

"So your bond with Onmund is... what, strained?" Runael replied, cracking a grin. The grin grew as she watched the Dunmer's cheeks darken; mentioning the Nord instructor always embarrassed Elsera.

"He's different," she said quickly.

"So is Ulfric," the Arch-Mage replied.

"He may be the High King of Skyrim," Elsera began slowly, "but that doesn't make him any different. Many Nords accept his example, and most of them follow it. Considering what Skyrim's become, can you really say he's different from other Nords?"

"I'm going to Windhelm," Runael said, rising from her seat and facing Elsera directly. "This is not my first visit to the capital since Ulfric became High King, and it likely won't be the last visit, either. I do hear insults here and there, but words only do so much; it's action that I watch for, and never see."

She could see that the Dunmer wanted to continue trying to argue, but also knew that Elsera was on the verge of giving up.

"I still have to teach you all about Labyrinthian," she said with a smile. "Can't do that if I'm being careless in the most xenophobic city in Skyrim."

The Dunmer gave a weak smile, and nodded wordlessly. She stepped forward and gently embraced Runael; the Arch-Mage returned it.

"Make sure none of the other students blow up the College while I'm gone," Runael said. "Especially Nilam; last time he was unsupervised, we had... how many unbound flame atronachs running rampant?"

"Too many," Elsera said with a scowl. "He's too ambitious and too careless..."

"Luckily, the College has you to watch over the others," Runael said, giving the Dunmer a brief pat on the head. "Keep the College intact until I get back, mm?"

"I... don't approve of this, Runael, but... but fine. The College will be fine. Make sure you will be, too."

* * *

The sun was rising in Solstheim, casting a warm glow over the Skaal Village. The sunlight, peeking through several other windows, cast its bright glare on the closed eyelids of an Altmer, who groaned wearily and turned away from the sunlight.

"Ya can pretend it ain't mornin', but it don't make it true," an amused voice said.

"I can also pretend I'm not tired, but that doesn't make it true," the mer replied sleepily.

"That ain't no one else's fault but yer own."

The mer opened one eye to regard the woman seated in a chair across from her bed. Long brown hair, typically pulled back into a ponytail, hung loosely about her shoulders - though the band she used to fasten her hair back was in her hand. The woman's blue eyes were half-closed, but the gaze was still upon her.

"Like you're any more wide awake," the Altmer pointed out.

"I just woke up," the woman said with a shrug. "I were gettin' ready t'head outside fer a bit."

The mer took notice of something else, something that made her open both eyes, then blink in surprise, as if she was seeing things.

In the woman's lap sat one of the Black Books, which the mer hadn't seen in the woman's hands in eight years. Her gaze upon the book was noticed by the woman, who looked down at it with a small scowl.

"He... well, came t'me while I slept," the woman said quietly. "Told me there were someone in his realm what all needed t'be dealt with."

The mer pursed her lips, but didn't reply. She knew full well where the woman stood on her service to the master of the Black Book... of the realm of Apocrypha, to which the Black Books were connected.

"He ain't contacted me in eight years, but... guess he ain't forgotten 'bout me."

"Did he say why you have to go?" the mer asked, sitting up slowly. She clutched the blanket to her chest, shoulder-length silver hair falling in front of her face. She reached up with her free hand to push the loose strands away from her green eyes.

"No, and that's what's buggin' me. He just wants me t'go back t'Apocrypha and do whatever he wants me t'do." The woman sounded bitter, and it showed on her face, as well.

"Mia..." The mer sighed quietly. "Don't forget he holds no sway over you here. He can tell you what to do, but he can't make you do it." She smiled faintly. "Whatever happened to 'Defiance'?"

The woman named Mia shifted uncomfortably at the nickname, and the mer began to regret using the term. It served as a sour reminder of Mia's past.

"Sorry," she said softly, looking away from the woman.

"S'all right. I know what ya meant by..." Mia looked down at the Black Book once again, then glanced up at the Altmer. "So... ya really think I should just... ignore him, Adalla?"

"If you don't want to serve him, why give him the chance to dictate what you do?" The mer rubbed what remained of her sleepiness from her eyes.

"What if this is important, though?" Mia asked. "He ain't contacted me in eight years, not since Miraak were killed. What if this has repcuss... reparacc..."

"Repercussions?" Adalla offered.

"Aye, that."

"And what if he's just trying to see if you answer his whims?" the mer replied.

The woman didn't reply immediately. Her gaze went back down to the Black Book, fingers tracing the edges of the front cover. Adalla couldn't see Mia's face, but she knew she was giving serious consideration to going... and simultaneously, serious consideration to ignoring the master of Apocrypha.

"Let's look at this another way. Suppose Frea walks in while you're gone. Do you really think it will sit well with her?" Adalla pointed out.

Mention of the shaman of the Skaal made Mia look up at the mer once more. She opened her mouth briefly, but it closed after a moment; her reply was a shake of her head.

"Damn Hermaeus Mora," Adalla said softly, rising to her feet, blanket still clutched to her chest. "You owe him nothing."

"Nothing but me life," was the grumbled reply. Adalla pretended not to hear it. Even despite the words, Mia picked up the Black Book and set it back in its place inside her pack, indicating her mind had been made up.

"What did he say, though?" Adalla looked at Mia expectantly. For several moments, the woman didn't reply, only continued to settle the Black Book into its place.

"Somethin' along the lines of 'seeker of knowledge invaded my realm; handle it for me'. I don't remember, but it ain't nothin' new for him, aye? He gets all sorts of..."

Adalla nodded at this, and slid her free arm around Mia's shoulders. The motion made the woman face the mer, and the two locked gazes for a time.

"So why would now be any different?" Adalla murmured. "Remind him that you answer to none but yourself."

Though her gaze was affixed upon Mia's eyes, she nonetheless saw the woman's lips shift into a smile. The smile then disappeared from view, but the sensation of lips pressed against her own in a gentle kiss told her exactly why.

"Aye," Mia responded in a quiet murmur. "It's probably nothin' t'worry 'bout." She stood slowly and slid her arms around Adalla in a firm hug. "Thank ya. I really didn't know what t'make of..."

"It's one of the reasons I'm here with you," the mer replied. "There are many other reasons, of course... far better."

"Ya need a reason t'stay with me?" Mia asked, sounding amused. The words made Adalla sigh softly.

"You know what I mean."

The woman let go of Adalla, and glanced down at the handle of the ebony war axe that was otherwise hidden from view by her pack. She bent over to pick up the weapon, and looked back at Adalla.

"Come outside with me?"

"But it's so cold outside," the mer protested. "It's so much warmer in here... with you."

"And this here's Frea's home, don't forget," Mia reminded her, gesturing about with her other hand. "We don't stay here for free, aye? We earn our place here in the Skaal's village."

"Oh, fine. Let me get dressed, though." Mia nodded, and Adalla lowered her arm from around the woman's shoulders. She moved back to the bed and sat upon its edge for a moment.

While she tried to recall where she'd left her armor, she found her thoughts drifting to Mia's self-styled 'master', Hermaeus Mora. Her own experience with the Daedric Prince of Fate and Knowledge had been... tame, all told. Still, she knew full well the horrors he was capable of exacting upon others. She glanced back at Mia, who was now picking up her bow of ebony, and bit her lower lip.

What if Mia was right, though? What if his call for Mia to return to Apocrypha was a herald of something dire? He _had_ left them both alone for the past eight years...

She put the thought from her mind. She was convinced it was no big deal, that Hermaeus Mora only sought to bring someone he thought was his servant under his command.

"Clothes put themselves on?"

"Huh?" The question had caught Adalla off-guard, who blinked and looked at Mia. The woman gestured to her in turn.

"Ya ain't dressed yet," Mia said with a wry grin. "Clothes put themselves on now?"

Adalla sighed and let it taper into a chuckle, and she reached for her own pack, at the foot of the bed. Mia was right about that, at least.

* * *

**_A.N._**_ \- Yep, this follows IAD, which followed Flames. I did want to point out that while it's not required to read the aforementioned stories to understand what's happening in Eventide, doing so may answer a few more questions that crop up. I'm likely to give clues and indicators as the story progresses, so as to try and make this story a little more... 'standalone', I suppose._

_I had an idea one day, while I was writing IAD. 'What would a Skyrim-under-Ulfric's-rule look like several years after he conquered it?' What was covered in the bit with Runael was meant to be a synopsis of how I envision the province to be, greatly summarized. I'll expand upon it as the story progresses, but 'setting the scene' and whatnot..._

_I didn't want to be all 'Mia and Adalla got back from Solstheim a few months ago' with Eventide. I wanted some time to pass for reasons that will become obvious as the story progresses. Why did I settle on eight years' time between IAD and Eventide? I couldn't tell you. It just seemed right, is the only 'real answer' I have._

_I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to progress Eventide. Not insofar as the story, but insofar as the format. As it stands now, I'm writing the third chapter. It may even be done; I haven't decided yet. I like it, and think it'll be fine with or without anything more... but the present 'format' is 'female bandit centric', then the 'heroes' (Runael, Elsera, Mia, Adalla, a couple more to come), and then back to 'female bandit centric'. So, the question is this... do I spring back to the 'heroes' for Chapter 4, then go 'female bandit centric' for Chapter 5, etc.? The only reason it's anything resembling a concern is that sooner or later, after a particularly notable chapter, it may feel like I'm forcing the focus on the next 'side'. I mean 'forcing'. Like 'stare at the blinking cursor and wonder 'what the fuck am I going to write?' forcing. It shouldn't inhibit the rate at which I'm writing these chapters, by any right; it's just all a matter of the story's flow, I suppose._

_...Then again, why am I mentioning it? It's not like I'm hoping for a 'do this format/don't do that format' type of response. ^^;_

_I'm slowly readjusting to my old Acer. It's hard to type on, because I'm left-handed. Normally that's not an issue, by my Acer's left Shift key is busted beyond repair, as is the left Ctrl key. Meaning to capitalize, or use the old 'Ctrl-I' commands, I have to use my right hand. Which feels so bizarre. I'm getting used to using the right Shift key again (it broke long before I knew the left Ctrl key was busted), but it'll probably be another couple of weeks before it feels... natural? The Ctrl key matter is going to take far longer to adjust to, though. My ability to type isn't drastically affected, but it is a touch slower because of that._

_-Spiritslayer_


	3. Visitor

Fingers thrummed idly upon the spine of the unmarked book. The woman to whom the fingers belonged was watching the door to her quarters at the inn, as though waiting for someone to walk in at any moment. She knew she was in no danger, though. Not from these cretins that worked under her, anyway. They were tough, but none of them had the guts to try and stand against her.

Her other hand rose, a finger tracing the small scar that marred her left cheek. It was an eternal reminder of the battle she'd fought, several months ago. The fight that had changed everything... the fight that had elevated her beyond her former, much lower station. The chief hadn't been too pleased with her challenge, but he accepted it nonetheless. His twin swords had been blocked at every swing, slash and thrust - barring the one strike over her cheek.

In the time it took him to gloat at the single wound he'd finally managed to inflict, she'd driven her greatsword through his heart. His last expression had been one of contempt and disbelief; hers had been a twisted smirk.

Since then, she'd decided to expand her influence. Once she asserted her dominance as the new chief of the bandits she'd been working with, she began to branch out, making offerings to other groups. Those that accepted her offerings agreed to work under her; those that refused were paid a visit, where she fought their leader and killed them.

Though the bandits continued to do their own thing, for the most part, she effectively led all the bandits of Skyrim, at least those she was aware of. Something happened to one or more of them, she learned of it very quickly and reacted accordingly. There was little she could do if an entire hideout was eradicated, short of sending another group to claim the hideout once more. Some of the hideouts were conveniently located throughout Skyrim, made for decent outposts, to a point.

For all she'd accomplished, though, she was still trying to figure out why her... 'partner' had told her to take over her original group. She'd given it much thought over the past several months, but not once did Clavicus Vile's first 'task' make sense. If he was looking for revenge, why did she need to lead a group of bandits?

She glanced down at the book. Upon completing his first task, the first few pages of the book had been filled with text. She had read it quickly, curious as to what the book was - what manner of 'incentive' it could possibly be. All that had been revealed, however, was old news: it pertained to the Oblivion Crisis, two hundred and ten years ago. She failed to see what relevance the Oblivion Crisis had to any of this. She wasn't going to confront him on it just yet, though; there were more pages to fill in the book, and that alone kept her interested enough to think that serving the Daedric Prince may yet be a lucrative venture for her. Of course, if the next few pages were all boring, she would either demand an alternate reward for her next task... or cut ties with him altogether. She wasn't sure yet.

On her last visit to his shrine, a couple weeks ago, he'd told her about the next task: identify points throughout Skyrim where 'magical energy sleeps'. He hadn't bothered to emphasize any further, though, leaving her to her own guesses.

Rather than flounder helplessly, she had decided it was time to make some bolder moves. The bandits under her direct control were running low on supplies, and she'd ordered a raid on Rorikstead one week ago. It had initially been intended to restock their food and drink supplies... but once the guards had fallen in a matter of moments, another idea struck her.

Why leave with supplies when they could just move on in unopposed and have constant access to those same supplies? The farmers didn't dare raise a weapon against any of the bandits, meaning they had pretty free reign throughout the community.

It was a strategic location for her to hold, too. Ever since the dragons had returned, the people of Rorikstead had taken to constructing a wall around the village, to keep threats out. Gates had been constructed on the east and west sides of the village. The wall had been built to resemble the walls at Riverwood: walkways on top, with views of the roads beyond. Perfect for archers to keep an eye out for approaching dangers.

It hadn't been quite enough to keep the bandits out, though. She had led the charge and broke through the gate with force. By the time the guards from the other end of Rorikstead had reached the eastern side, it was too late.

She had since ordered the bandits to hold the town. 'No one gets in, no one gets out.' She was determined to keep it that way for as long as she was able.

Exceptions had been made, of course. Those bandits beyond Rorikstead's walls that followed her had visited a couple of times with messages. The last messenger, whose visit was two days ago, had said that there was someone with important information for her, and that they were on their way to Rorikstead to visit her. She had been dubious at first, but the messenger had also stated that the visitor-to-be had known her name. This alone had caught her attention, as she wasn't in the habit of introducing herself. The curiosity got the better of her, and she told the bandits who watched Rorikstead's wall to let in anybody who could provide her name.

She, in the meantime, was growing restless. Over the past couple of days, she'd taken it fairly easy, making sure Rorikstead's supplies would last them quite a while yet. She knew that eventually, the people of Whiterun would realize their supplies from Rorikstead had dwindled, and someone would be sent to investigate; that was the biggest source of her restlessness. When someone _was _sent, how many would come? One? An army? Whiterun guards, mercenaries, passing adventurers?

The door opened without any sort of warning - no knocking, no request to enter. Seeing the door move made her jump in surprise; her hand had shot from the book to the hilt of her greatsword, and she was on her feet about a second later.

"Who-"

The open door revealed a figure clad in a black robe, with a hood up over their head. She couldn't tell if they were male or female just yet; she could see the lower part of their face, but the chin was bare.

"You're not one of my men," she growled.

"I am the one you have been expecting," said the voice, that of a male. The accent, the tone... it sounded Imperial, but she doubted he truly was. Ulfric had kept almost all Imperials out of Skyrim since he'd become High King, after all.

"Prove it."

He reached up and pulled the hood back just enough for her to see his face. A crooked nose, blue eyes... and he looked fairly young. Certainly a few years younger than she was. He was no one she recognized, however, and the grip on her sword tightened.

"It's a pleasure to meet you... Larian."

The use of her first name - by a complete stranger - made her hand relax upon the blade's hilt, but she didn't remove it.

"Who did you bribe for-"

"No one, miss Ravell."

The last name prompted her to lower her hand slowly. She didn't trust him, nor did she think she ever would... but for now, he'd proven to be the one she was expecting.

"Doesn't sound like a typical Breton name," he added, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Hands where I can see them," she commanded, hand shifting back up to her blade. "Not all Breton names need to sound the same, for that matter. Who are you, how do you know my name, and what do you want?"

"A... 'friend' told me about you, and wants me to help you."

She could imagine only one individual thinking she needed help with the only task she'd been given in recent times. A frown crossed her lips briefly.

"Tell Clavicus Vile I can handle-"

"You don't know where to start with your search, do you?" he interrupted. Were it not for his words being true, she would have been angry with him for interrupting her. "I can help with that. I can't pinpoint anything from here, but I can help nonetheless."

"Am I to believe you're a mage, then?" she asked tentatively. Her hand lowered as his own hands returned to view, nothing clasped in either. If he was a mage, though, it wouldn't matter if his hands were empty or not. She wondered how quickly she could draw her blade and run him through if magic appeared in his palms.

"I am," he replied.

"What's your connection to Clavicus?" she asked. She noticed his gaze flick to the book, and she moved to block it from his view, silently telling him to pay it no mind.

"I serve him, same as you. Perhaps not the same, though. It's obvious he favors you a little more."

"What sort of deal did you strike up with him?" The question was out of her mouth before she could bite it back. It was none of her business, but her curiosity had taken hold. Larian contemplated telling him he didn't need to answer, but she didn't want to come across as kind, or soft. Anything of the sort was a weakness, a liability. She had to cover those if she wanted to stay alive.

"Typical kind. I help him with something, he helps me with something in return."

He was offering no details. She couldn't blame him for that; she didn't want to go into specifics as to the details of her own bargain with Clavicus Vile.

"Why Rorikstead?" he asked, gesturing about the interior of the inn.

"Supplies," she replied shortly. "Why bother raiding the town when we can take it and have constant access?"

"Ah. A fair point." He looked around briefly, and with an air of disinterest. "Winter is coming, of course."

"I'm aware," she responded. Her guard was rising once more; why was he speaking so casually with her? Was he trying to lull her into a false sense of security? She had felt tense ever since he'd opened the door, and nothing he'd said or done so far had eased that tension yet. She didn't trust him in the slightest yet; barging into her room hadn't helped that matter.

"Of course. You've lived in Skyrim for... what, nine years now?"

"My past is none of your business," she snapped.

"You've been a bandit for fifteen years, though. Something happen in High Rock-"

The tip of her blade was suddenly less than an inch from his nose.

"Leave it be," she growled, "or I kill you where you stand."

Even despite the threat to his life, the Imperial chuckled.

"Not everyone begins a life of banditry at eleven years old," was all he said. Before she could thrust the blade into his face, though, he backed up a few steps. "Now, on to business."

She definitely didn't trust him. She definitely didn't like him. She most certainly did not want his help with this matter, but she had no other reliable means of identifying any sort of 'sleeping magical energy', or whatever it was she was supposed to be looking for. As much as she longed to kill the Imperial in his sleep for stepping over several boundaries, she couldn't deny she needed his help... for now.

"Who are you?" she finally asked. She wasn't going to let him get away with staying anonymous to her while he knew who she was. He knew her name, and somehow, he knew her past. Both, undoubtedly, had to do with Clavicus Vile somehow... because if the Daedric Prince wasn't involved, then this Imperial was the creepiest stalker she'd ever met in her life, and he'd be dead once he pointed her in the right direction.

"For now, my name isn't important," he replied. He was ready to continue speaking, but the sudden prick of her greatsword upon the tip of his nose, drawing a tiny bead of blood, silenced him. Larian was surprised - perhaps even a little impressed - that he didn't flinch away from the blade... but it wasn't enough to quell her growing dislike of him.

"Let me rephrase that," she snapped. "Tell me your name, or I'll dump you in an unmarked grave later tonight."

"You need my help."

"I can always coerce another mage to do my bidding." Her expression reflected her thoughts; she was daring him to continue withholding his name. She was right, too. She could easily find, kidnap, terrify and coerce a random mage to help her with this matter. An uncooperative, self-proclaimed 'servant of Clavicus Vile' who knew too much about her was something she did not want to deal with.

"Derrick."

"Last name?" she pressed. She longed to shove the blade further ahead and into him, but restrained herself.

"I don't remember."

She scoffed, but his expression made her believe it was the truth.

"The second you remember, you will tell me," she warned. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Imperial. _I'm_ in charge here. If you try to tell me what to do, I will kill you."

"Duly noted."

She lowered her greatsword, and he moved his hand up to touch the spot where she'd pierced his nose.

"As you said, to business. Why should I believe you can help me with this, and that I need _you_ to get it done?"

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Not a ton to say here. That's primarily because I've been feeling rather ill for the past few weeks. Well, 'sleepless', primarily... but the past week has seen me with an overall loss of appetite; eating anything makes me feel nauseated. No idea whatsoever what could be wrong, but eh... It hasn't affected my ability to write, but it has gotten me down lately._

_Larian Ravell. It didn't seem like a typical Breton name, but then again, I didn't write Larian to resemble a typical Breton, either (not that I know what a 'typical Breton' is like to begin with... ^^; ). A Breton with no real talent for using magic was the overall theme I went for with Larian. When I first created her a few months ago, it was as a 2H barbarian character. AS:LAL randomly dropped her off at Four Skull Overlook (I think that's the name?) out in the Reach as a bandit, and... well, everything just developed from there. Visually, she became one of my absolute favorite characters. (I had a handful of screenshots of Larian, but then the computer crashed, and now they're lost.) She was also created as... well, not a 'counterpart', per se, but a 'complementary' character to someone else who will be making an appearance here in Eventide. She's a counterpart insofar as her moral alignment, which is obviously 'less than good'. (Gods, I really wish I still had the screenshots... so very sad they're lost. x.x )_

_Derrick was a rather uninspired name for me to come up with. I contemplated giving him a last name right off the bat, since he's going to be something of an important character in the chapters to come, but I just couldn't think of one. Not even sure I'll keep his name as 'Derrick'; it may well be an alias on his part! :P __They both want to be in charge of the other, but Larian's not having any of it. The fact that he knows so much about her already, though, and she knows nothing about him but his name and his 'master'... he does have a leg up on her with that. She's resourceful, though, and clever... very, very clever. Crude at times, particularly when it comes to personality, but clever._

_The graphics of Skyrim on the 360. Oh gods, make the bleeding happening in my eyes stop! x.x The game itself runs smooth, probably infinitely smoother than it ever ran on a PC... but the graphics are worse somehow. Not just that, but there's all that DLC I'm missing out on... all those mods... *whines* I keep wondering if it's somehow possible to get mods onto a 360 hard drive and get it to work that way, somehow, but I somehow doubt my luck is that good. Then there's the... well, television. I used to play Skyrim on a fairly big and chunky TV (you know, the 'big rounded blocks' that existed before flat-screen TVs). The picture detail was horrid, but the sound was good. Why is sound so important? Because the new, flat and smaller TV I have (got it for Christmas a couple years ago) is horrible with sound. If there are speakers on the right side, they aren't working properly. I've exhausted all possible avenues trying to identify a method through which I could get the sound to play clearly from both sides of the TV, but no such luck. Until then, I'm stuck turning my character so the left 'ear' faces all conversations, and thus I can hear everything clearly. (Seriously, a couple of the characters I've created? I imagine they're deaf in the right ear to better 'fit' the sound discrepancy.) The speakers can't handle sudden 'spikes' in sound, either. The music can be playing quietly... but soon as, say, a lockpick breaks in the lock (damn you, Expert/Master level locks! . ) that sound is LOUD and drowns out all other sound. The sound stops playing for a couple seconds while the system 'recovers' from the sudden 'spike' in sound, and the music resumes shortly thereafter. (If I'm not playing a stealth character, or I'm wandering the wilds of Skyrim by day, I depend on the music changes to let me know 'oh shit, something's trying to kill me!' - that way, I can react accordingly and NOT be bitten in the ass by a wolf/skeever/saber cat/bear/anything else.)_

_On the flip side, it has helped me rediscover a bunch of stuff about Skyrim that I'd forgotten about. Did the Civil War questline last night on a new, pure mage character - sided with the Empire because 'why not?'. Found what looks like an abandoned giant camp... I want to say northwest of Loreius Farm, with a couple poachers hanging out there. Never knew they existed before. Found a surface ruin - can't remember the name - with nothing there but a chest hidden behind a wall. Think that was in Hjaalmarch, but it might've been in the Pale; I was bouncing back and forth between the border of the two, and it was near Stonehills. Agonizing as the experience has been, it's been fun all the same._

_Still can't wait to buy a new computer that runs Skyrim like a dream, though, because it's infinitely better on a PC - if only for the mods._

_You ever finish writing a chapter, think 'this is really good', then find yourself going 'but is it really? what if it could be so much better than it is? should I delete and rewrite the entire thing? no, I wrote all this... I could just go back and change a few things... but what?' That's happening with Eventide's 4th chapter. It's written and done, and I personally like it... but at the same time, I can't help but feel like there's something that could be changed somewhere to make it better. Short of rewriting it, I have no idea. It'll be up next week all the same. Hopefully I can write out the next few chapters over the course of the week. (Not that it's going to be difficult to find inspiration to write, it's just this nausea that's slowly starting to get to me and makes me not want to write more often than not. When I do write, it's not hindered; it's just my drive to write.)_

_One of my longer ANs in a while, but eh. Things happen._

_-Spiritslayer_


	4. A Matter Of Trust

"Are you certain she's coming?" came the gruff, lightly growling voice of a Nord. It echoed faintly throughout the great hall of the Palace of the Kings.

"When has she ever arrived on time?" came the reply, tinged with a hint of amusement. The speaker was dressed in a noble's clothing, but to simply call him a 'noble' was to insult him.

High King Ulfric Stormcloak was not 'just another noble'. He sat upon the throne; one hand rested on the end of the armrest, fingers drumming idly upon it, while the other hand hosted his head as he relaxed and waited.

The first Nord uttered a 'hmph' sound. Ulfric knew why.

"She has been our ally and friend for years, Galmar. She welcomes our healers and allows them to better learn their craft at the College. Why, then, do you still distrust her so?"

"It's not that I distrust her, Ulfric," Galmar replied, scratching at his beard briefly. "It's more so the fact that you tolerate her being late so consistently. I had thought you'd find it offensive that she dictates when you two actually meet-"

The door to the Palace of the Kings swung open, groaning loudly as it moved. Both Galmar and Ulfric turned their attention to the door; Ulfric had lifted his head out of his hand and was standing up now.

"Loud as ever, Galmar," came a feminine voice from the door. It was a voice they both recognized and trusted... even if it did belong to a high elf. The figure stepped inside, to reveal a high elf with long, pale blonde hair and green eyes, dressed in finer clothing and boots. "I'll have you know I left early, hoping to get here early... but I was, ah... 'held up' by bandits on the road."

"Bandits. Is that the best excuse you can come up with?" Galmar replied, crossing his arms with a scowl.

She didn't reply, choosing instead to close the distance between her and the throne. She stopped a respectful distance from the throne, however, dropped to a knee, and bowed her head.

Ulfric was used to the respectful gesture by now, but he wasn't used to any of his friends or closest allies bowing to him.

"Glad to see you made it in one piece, Runael," he said, gesturing for her to rise with a hand. He sat back in his throne once more. "And the bandits?"

"Most are dead. There were a couple that ran away." She rose to her feet once more. "Were I not trying to get here as quickly as possible, I'd have hunted them down."

"What proof have you that bandits truly impeded you?" Galmar said. Ulfric recognized the tone and purpose of the words: his right-hand was trying to drive the point home that her continued tardiness when summoned to Windhelm was inexcusable.

"Proof? Why, Galmar, I am wounded that you do not believe me." She clutched a hand to her chest and staggered exaggeratedly, as if he'd actually harmed her.

"Be at ease, Galmar." Normally, Ulfric would have let Runael and Galmar have their usual 'greeting argument' - they were friends, and the arguments were their own unique version of exchanging pleasantries - but Runael's mention of bandits had reminded Ulfric as to the purpose of his request for the Arch-Mage's visit. "I believe her, given the bandit problem we are having of late."

"So the rumors are true," Runael said, turning her attention to Ulfric. Galmar cleared his throat rather pointedly, which made Ulfric sigh faintly and caused the high elf to roll her eyes. "Your Majesty," she added, casting a 'there, happy?' glance at Galmar - who returned it with a sort of smug smile.

Ulfric gestured toward the war room and stood once more. The motion was clear in its intent; Galmar led the way, while Runael followed him. She, in turn, was followed by Ulfric.

"The rumors are true, unfortunately. There were several weeks in the past where bandit activity had been practically non-existent, but now they've returned, and in force." It was Ulfric who stood at the table in the middle of the room, hands resting upon its smooth surface - and upon the bottom edge of the map of Skyrim that adorned the table. This same map had been used during the war against the Empire, and most of the flags that had marked Imperial and Stormcloak positions had been removed. One red flag, however, was placed upon Rorikstead.

The high elf noticed this, and tapped the top of it gently.

"As far as we can tell, Rorikstead was taken over by bandits," Galmar said. "It's not unheard of for bandits to raid villages, towns, and even cities... but to hold the place they took? This isn't usual bandit activity."

"What do you think it means?" Runael asked.

"They are growing bold, and have unexplained strength," Galmar offered.

"I agree with Galmar, but I think there's more to it, as well. Scouts have reported that there are runners coming to and going from Rorikstead, as if with messages." Ulfric turned his gaze to Runael's eyes, which were locked with his own now. He wondered if she thought the same as he.

He was not disappointed.

"You think someone's leading all of the bandits. A single man or woman, in command of all of Skyrim's bandits."

"It would explain the lack of activity," he said with a nod. "Perhaps that was in-fighting between the bandits as a single leader was established. The greater strength upon their return, the unusually organized movements since their return..."

"And you haven't tried to reclaim Rorikstead, where their single leader may be located... why?" she asked. Were it anyone else, Ulfric would have been incensed by the question, but he knew she was open to the possibility that he had a reason for it.

"Because, same as you on your way here, bandits have hindered our own movements. My scouts don't report an overwhelming bandit presence in Rorikstead, so at first, I thought I could send a squad to handle a few brigands. They were hampered and picked off by bandit ambushes on the road, in various places. A second attempt, this time through the woods, was met with the same result, but much quicker."

"They let your scouts live, though?" Runael was surprised at this.

"We don't understand it, either," Galmar said with a nod. His finger rocked the red flag back and forth slightly, the gesture rather idle. "I have a theory that they don't want to invite Ulfric to send an army out, however. If they picked off the scouts, we'd be blind - and rather than send out more scouts, we'd send out an army in response, so as to purge any possible ambushes with the greatest of ease."

"Seems a bit over the top," she mused.

"I didn't say it's how we'd react. I was presuming it's how they think." Galmar gave a small shrug and withdrew his finger from the flag.

She only answered by giving a small nod of understanding.

"We would have sent out an army by now," Ulfric said after a few moments' peace, "but Rorikstead is no longer just 'a town we need to reclaim'. If the bandits of Skyrim are being led by someone, they are undoubtedly in Rorikstead. If we march an army out there, it wouldn't fall to ambushes, that's true... but-"

"It would be seen by bandit scouts, and they'd report it to Rorikstead. The leader, in turn, would turn tail and escape," she finished. Galmar looked irritated that she interrupted the High King of Skyrim, but Ulfric really didn't care. He liked Runael enough that he didn't mind her completing his thoughts.

"Exactly." Ulfric straightened up slowly. "I can't say for certain why they let our scouts live, but I do know it will prove their downfall. Scouts travel alone, equipped well enough to fend off wild beasts and the occasional stray bandit or what have you. They definitely don't have the strength to face an entire ambush alone, let alone threaten the bandits' positions."

Runael seemed to be understanding, for she was starting to shake her head. A wry smile was crossing her lips, and she was starting to chuckle faintly.

"Ohh, no. You are _not_ sending me out to handle all of Skyrim's bandits alone," she said. Ulfric laughed a little at her surprised expression once Galmar shook his head.

"Aye, we aren't." Galmar, too, looked quite amused at Runael's expression. "You know where to find those two friends of yours, though. The ones that helped deal with the blockade eight years ago."

"Mia and Adalla?" Runael said, blinking a few times. Ulfric frowned at the reaction; he'd seen that face before.

"You don't know where they are," he said.

"No, I do know... but I don't know when they're returning from Solstheim. Visiting their friends in the Skaal Village," she explained upon seeing Galmar's confused expression. "Still, you... what, you want them to handle it on their own?"

"Ideally, I'd prefer it if all three of you worked together," Ulfric said. "The three of you together wouldn't be a particularly threatening presence, like the scouts. Nor would you draw the attention of the bandits' ambushes, because you are not of my armies, and you do not possess the numbers of a squad. Sending one of you alone is likely sending you to your death. I could just as easily send the two of them, but you and I think alike quite often, Runael. I would greatly prefer if you had a hand in this, to act in my stead where I cannot."

She looked at the red flag upon Rorikstead's position on the map, and bit her lower lip gently.

"If you..." She hesitated briefly. "Were..." Another pause. "...May I speak plainly?"

Ulfric gave a nod of approval.

"You're crazy, you know that? Asking the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold to deal with a bandit problem?"

"I'm not asking the Arch-Mage," he replied, extending a hand, palm out, to quell Galmar's outburst at her not-so-subtle 'insult'. "I'm asking a friend and close ally for her help, and hoping that two of her own friends will help as well. My soldiers can only do so much without being harried by these ambushes outside of the towns and cities. I don't trust any mercenary or sellsword with this task, either. As I mentioned, my scouts are permitted the freedom to move around Skyrim, but they aren't the sort to take on this threat head-on."

Runael was silent for several moments. Ulfric knew that she would ultimately accept. She'd never let him down before or declined his requests for her help.

"I'll... send word to Solstheim," she began slowly. "See if Mia and Adalla both want to help me with this. I'll also see if my apprentice wishes to help."

"That makes four," Galmar said with a frown.

"Elsera will never shut up if I leave her behind to do something this risky," Runael said with a chuckle. "She'll insist I don't go at all-"

"Then why tell her?" Galmar asked with an exasperated sigh.

"And when I tell her I'm going to do this, she'll demand I let her come with me. It's just how she is."

"She's protective of her Arch-Mage," Ulfric commented.

"Aren't you?" she replied, shooting him a quick wink. The words and wink both made Galmar grumble incoherently, but it earned a small chuckle from Ulfric.

"I am, yes." His own reply earned him a disbelieving look from Galmar, who was looking between him and Runael now.

They both knew the truth, of course. While Runael would occasionally offer a playful flirt here and there, nothing had ever developed from it. One evening, a couple years ago, Ulfric had confronted her on it. He'd been unsettled by the flirts, and had decided to determine where her mind was at. He had wanted nothing intimate with the high elf, and was prepared to make that point very clear if she suggested it. She, however, had stated that her flirtations were all playful, none of them serious. She had offered to stop - an offer he took quite readily. Obviously, she had 'forgotten' about it since then, but now that Ulfric knew the intent behind her 'flirting' - all in good fun - he simply took it in stride.

Besides, it served to confuse Galmar. Ulfric respected his right-hand completely and utterly, and the two had been friends for a very long time... but it was always entertaining to have a little fun at Galmar's expense. Never anything worse than confusing him, of course; it was absolutely disrespectful to do anything more than that.

"So," Runael cleared her throat, "surely you didn't invite me here just to give me this task and send me on my way? High King or not, that's rather rude of a host."

"Of course not," Ulfric said with a chuckle. "Dinner is being cooked as we speak, and your room is ready for your evening stay, as per the usual. Seeing whereas they're in Solstheim, I don't foresee you setting about this task in the next few days, either. We have time to catch up."

"My letters aren't enough?" she asked, quirking a brow.

"Your letters are always business. When was the last time we spoke, not as High King and Arch-Mage, but rather as friends?" His words brought a half-grin to the high elf's lips and a weary sigh from Galmar.

"Fair enough," she said with a small smile. "Allow me to get settled into my room, then, and I'll be back so we may catch up on non-business matters." She bowed her head to him, and departed only when he returned the gesture.

"She likes you," Galmar grumbled quietly, once Runael was out of earshot.

"Of course she does. I like her, as well. We wouldn't be friends if we disliked one another," Ulfric mused.

"You _know_ what I-"

"I know what you mean, yes. On a serious note, you are wrong. Runael and I have the utmost respect for one another, and we are good friends, yes... but it is no more than that." Ulfric was only a little surprised at Galmar's decision to speak up about the matter.

"You say so from your own perspective, but can you say with certainty that she feels the exact same way?" Galmar asked, voice bearing hints of a challenge.

"Enough," Ulfric said with a sigh. "Let's suppose there _were_ something between Runael and I. What would it matter?"

"She is a high elf," Galmar said, as if it explained everything.

"And she has earned my complete trust over the years. She was formerly of the Thalmor, at that, but even despite that - and owing largely to her part in breaking the blockade eight years ago - I trust her."

"A Nord and a high elf do not belong together," Galmar muttered.

"And we are not," Ulfric replied sharply. "Leave it be, Galmar. I know you speak of it out of concern, but your concern is unnecessary with this. All of this makes me think you distrust her, and it contradicts what you said earlier." These words left Galmar speechless for a time.

"I do trust her," he finally said, "but I will always have the safety of Skyrim and her High King at the forefront of my mind."

Ulfric wanted to continue speaking about it, but decided to let it go. He knew how Galmar could be when it came to such things, and knew it could be hours before he set his right-hand's mind at ease... if only for a few hours' time. High elves were always a touchy topic for Galmar, and Runael, considering the trust they both had in her, was even more touchy as a topic... for if she was to betray them, it would dig far deeper and sting more painfully than almost any other betrayal Ulfric could imagine.

But he knew Runael. She hadn't earned his trust on minor favors or snippets of advice. Before and after he became High King, she was one of his biggest supporters - she had even taken part in the battle at Solitude, turning her magical prowess to healing for wounded Stormcloaks. Her words and points of view provided alternate perspective on many matters, as well, and Ulfric valued that.

He wouldn't admit it to anybody, but he most valued her ability to help him forget, even temporarily, some of the more cumbersome duties that came with being High King. If she could make him laugh or keep him amused, he would end up in good spirits. When he was in good spirits, he made better decisions when matters came back to mind.

Runael was good for Skyrim. Of that, Ulfric had no doubts.

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Are Runael and Ulfric going to become 'a thing'? Well... that's telling._

_To me, the best way for a high elf to earn Ulfric's trust is to take every opportunity to help him further his own agenda, as it's presented... and even then, that takes a lot of time. I do feel like, from such a perspective, eight years is more than enough time for a high elf to not just earn his trust, but become acknowledged as his friend. Helping him with the civil war doesn't hurt matters, either. If his interactions with Runael seem uncharacteristic for his canon character, just keep that in mind._

_That said, I did feel a little awkward writing this chapter. A high elf talking all friendly-like and casually with Ulfric Stormcloak? Were it not for the circumstances I'd set up, I'd have found it quite unbelievable myself. And not just 'Ulfric Stormcloak', but the High King of Skyrim. That friendship had a massive part to play in making it a touch smoother._

_On the flip side, I had a lot of fun writing the exchanges between Runael and Galmar. That, in comparison to Ulfric and Runael exchanges, was easier. Friends who like playfully ribbing each other._

_I kind of feel like I've hit a dead end of sorts. Not that I've stopped writing altogether, but I'm not 100% sure what to focus on with Chapter 7 (I have the next two done. Well, the next chapter for certain; think I finished 6, but I can't remember... and I don't want to check it right this second). There are several areas I could address, but the difficulty of choosing one... maddening, somewhat. I'll figure something out, though._

_-Spiritslayer_


	5. Evening In Helgen

"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart..." rang out over the din of the inn. A few others joined in with the song, all with varying accuracy owing to alcoholic muddling of their minds or personal beliefs on how the song ought to go. There was a jolly air about the large hall, with laughter, chatter and busy staff bustling about.

And yet, there was one corner that the patrons avoided, practically at all costs. Even the staff didn't want to step into the corner for any reason... for fear of aggravating the heavily armored figure seated at the table in the corner. A tankard filled with mead sat before them, only missing a couple of sips; otherwise, the tankard was full. They had one armor-clad hand upon the table, fingers lightly drumming upon the wooden surface in tune with the music; the other clung to the tankard of mead, as if possessive and daring someone else to try and take it from them.

The armor was gray in its coloration, and was a style not commonly seen in Skyrim... but rather in Solstheim. A couple patrons noticed the apparent origins of the armor, and spoke in hushed whispers behind their hands to others. It was commonly believed that the only way to get such a suit of armor was to kill someone for it. The armor, oftentimes referred to as 'Nordic carved', was apparently hard to find, even in Solstheim. Not many smiths crafted it, and it was difficult to obtain because most of those who wore it were typically well-protected from harm.

That meant that if the figure came to blows with anyone, they would likely win the fight handily. The patrons were more than willing to give them ample space and a wide berth.

The figure had a black linen cloak over her shoulders, the bottom hem of which rested upon the floor but slightly. A black hood obscured their head from view, making it nigh impossible to identify the figure's gender for any of the patrons. The staff knew, of course, having served the figure their drink, but they weren't in a 'sharing' mood insofar as the identity of the figure.

"For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows..." Other patrons finished the song for the bard, and applause broke out through the inn. The figure in the Nordic carved armor, however, withheld their own applause - and in fact, didn't even seem to register the fact that a song had just concluded. A couple patrons were getting annoyed at the figure's seeming lack of care about anything, but no one was bold enough to make a move... or drunk enough.

The door to the inn opened, and in stepped a pair of soldiers clad in ringmail armor. Blue sashes were worn over their right shoulder and fastened to their belts in the front and back, to resemble tabards below the belt. Cheers greeted them, and several mugs were raised into the air as the Stormcloak soldiers strode toward the counter.

"Usual?" the innkeeper, a young Nord lass, asked.

"Not tonight, I'm afraid," one of the Stormcloaks replied. "Need a clear head for the patrol later."

Mention of a patrol piqued the heavily armored figure's attention. They were listening to the conversation now - a task made slightly more difficult by the tumult in the inn.

"What's going on?" the innkeeper asked. "It's been patrols every night for the past few weeks..."

"Bandits are getting bolder," the second Stormcloak grumbled. He wordlessly picked up a mug of mead and downed it over the course of a few seconds, much to the disdain of his partner. He let out a loud belch, and cleared his throat. "They took Rorikstead a couple weeks ago."

"I heard about that," the innkeeper said grimly. "No one's allowed in or out, yeah?"

"Aye," the first replied. He snatched the empty mug from his partner, who only looked irritated by the act. "The High King's fixing to set someone real capable to it, though, so it'll be sorted out soon."

The armored figure turned around so as to face the Stormcloaks better, but said nothing.

"Does he have anyone in mind?" the innkeeper asked.

"Far as I can tell, he's already contacted the one he was interested in," the second Stormcloak said with a nod. "So there's that answer."

"So why did they take Rorikstead? If it was just for supplies, they'd have taken everything and run away already..."

"That's the thing, we don't know. That whole 'no one gets in, no one gets out' thing and all..." The first Stormcloak sighed heavily and gestured silently for a drink. The innkeeper gave him a dubious look, but eventually handed him a tankard. He picked it up, sniffed it tentatively, and nodded his approval. "Water will do me good," he said.

"Sissy," the second jeered.

"You say that now, but wait until you're the one stumbling all over the road and falling down in the middle of the night," the first replied with a chuckle.

"I'm just glad that-"

Whatever the innkeeper was glad about, no one would know. The door to the inn was thrown open without warning, and in tromped a trio of figures clad in hide and fur armor. The armored figure was regarding them closely now; their hand had slipped from the tankard to the hilt of a largely hidden blade at their back, beneath the cloak. Their other hand shifted to gently grasp the edge of a shield of the same craft as the rest of their armor.

"Alright, you idiots!" came a shout. The three words silenced the inn, and all eyes were now upon the trio. "This here inn's under our control now! Don't do nothin' stupid, and we won't spill your guts on the pretty lady's floor."

"Oh, is it now?" the first Stormcloak chuckled. He drew the battleaxe slung over his shoulder and grasped the weapon tightly in his hands. "And I wonder how you're going to keep it that way once you three are dead?" The second Stormcloak was following his partner's lead, and had his greatsword at the ready.

A few panicked eyes noticed that the armored figure had stood, and had their shield in their left hand and their right on the hilt of the hidden blade. A couple murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Three on three? If only that made any difference," the bold man in hide jeered.

"Three?" the first Stormcloak asked. He glanced around, and his gaze came to rest on the armored figure. "Hold there. This is not-"

"Look out!" The figure's voice, that of a woman, rang out suddenly. She was rushing past the Stormcloaks, shield raised. The Stormcloak who had addressed her was ready to protest, but the sound of a blade striking metal to no effect interrupted him and made him realize what had happened. The trio had drawn their own weapons and advanced when he'd dropped his guard - and the armored woman had intercepted the bold man's steel sword.

"Stormcloaks need protection?" the first figure mocked. "Guess they aren't-" He was interrupted by the sudden bash of the armored woman's shield into his face, crying in pain. Blood sprayed from his nose as he stumbled back, and he shrieked in pain again - he withdrew his hand from the large fire in the center of the inn before it could do any serious damage. His comrades had drawn their own weapons - a pair of iron war axes each - and were advancing on the armored figure.

A flash of metal glinted in the firelight, and the first man found an exquisite blade buried in his chest. Blood began to dribble from his mouth, and he coughed weakly. The blade was twisted before the shield was bashed into his face, knocking him away from her. The blade was withdrawn, then the woman spun in place and ran the blade across his throat. Blood sprayed across the walls, tables and upon some of the food that was upon the tables; the man collapsed shortly thereafter, a pool of blood forming beneath him.

"Azura curse you!" another of the men shouted. The dark elf had both war axes raised over his head, prepared to bring them down in a vicious - if obvious - overhead strike. He never got the chance, however; the sword had found a new home in his throat, and he gurgled incoherently. Another flash of light on the blade, and his head flew into the crowd of awestruck and terrified patrons. A mortified shriek rang out as one of the unlucky patrons caught the head in his hands, and the severed head was suddenly being tossed around as if it were a hot potato.

The third man hesitated and backed away, weapons lowering. The Redguard was apparently no suicidal fool.

"Halt!" the Stormcloaks commanded. "Weapons away, and we won't kill you!"

The Redguard complied. To everyone's surprise, the woman lowered her weapon as well.

"Come with us, bandit," the second Stormcloak growled. "We've got a cell in the keep waiting for you." He turned his attention to the woman. "We'll handle things from here. Thank you for the help, but I wonder if you just made a bigger mess than necessary."

"I'll help Jerra clean up," the woman offered.

The Stormcloak nodded, and with his partner, escorted the bandit that surrendered out of the inn.

All attention was now on the woman, her sword still in hand. She turned to face the rest of the crowd, and they could see her face now: it was that of a Breton, one with cool blue eyes. Strands of mahogany hair were visible around her collar.

Fingers were pointed at her sword, however, and murmurs overtook the crowd.

"Jerra-"

The door flew open once more, and the woman spun around to face the door. It was the second Stormcloak.

"You fought well in here, but we need all able hands outside!" he shouted. "Bandits have overrun Helgen!"

The woman needed no further prompting. She was already rushing to the door, blade glowing in the firelight. The Stormcloak stepped aside so she could get outside, and his jaw dropped when he realized that, even in the absence of the firelight, the blade still glowed.

"How-" he murmured, eyes upon the sphere of golden-white light emanating from the blade's hilt.

"There will be time to answer questions later," she replied. She had her shield raised, and spared only a glance at the Stormcloak. "For now, the well-being of Helgen demands our attention."

"Answer me this, at least... who are you?" the Stormcloak asked. He looked surprised at the small smile that adorned her lips.

"Neria, oathsworn knight." She stepped past him and into the cool evening, sword and shield at the ready.

Only once the Stormcloak had followed Neria outside did the rest of the crowd break into a bout of awed murmurs.

"Did you see how she fought?!"

"She stepped forward to block that blade without a moment's hesitation..."

"A Breton knight? Does such a thing even...?"

Only one person was speechless. Jerra the innkeeper's eyes were wide, her hands gripping the counter to help stabilize herself. She'd only ever heard of the sword before, never seen it... until now. Even so, there was no other blade it could possibly have been.

"Dawnbreaker..." she murmured.

* * *

"Letter from Runael," Mia said, waving it about.

"Oh?" Adalla was suddenly attentive, for she sat up straight. Her hand remained upon the head of the white-furred saber cat sitting in front of her, and she cast an apologetic glance at the feline when the cat looked mildly annoyed at having the scratching of its ears interrupted.

"Aye." Mia opened the letter.

"Did you tip the courier this time?" Adalla asked.

"I gave him a tip, aye."

"A money tip?" the Altmer pressed.

"Money ain't gonna do him no good if he dies in the wild," she said simply.

Adalla only sighed in exasperation and resumed scratching the saber cat behind the ears, eliciting a contented purr from the feline. She watched as Mia read the letter, and felt a smile creep to her lips despite the woman's treatment of the courier. It had taken quite some time, but Adalla had finally taught Mia how to read and write. She'd also tried to teach Mia proper speech, and while Mia understood the concepts, she was stuck on her typical speech patterns. In hindsight, she was glad for that; Mia's speech pattern was but one of many things she loved about the Akaviri woman.

"Seems like things're goin' t'Oblivion back in Skyrim," Mia said, extending the letter toward Adalla. "Runael wants us t'help her with somethin'. High King's orders."

"Did she say what?" the Altmer inquired. She was a little disappointed when Mia shook her head, and took the letter wordlessly to read it herself.

_Dearest Mia and Adalla,_

_I hope this letter finds you both in good health and even better spirits, for I have a task I require aid with. Our esteemed High King, Ulfric Stormcloak, has asked for my aid in a matter plaguing Skyrim of late. He believes you will both be invaluable to my success, and has subtly requested that you both join me in this endeavor._

_I shall await your return in Winterhold, and am looking forward to seeing you both again. I will fill you both in once we are reunited._

_With love,_

_Runael_

She folded the letter and looked at Mia.

"What?"

"Thoughts?" the Altmer mused. She jumped a little as the saber cat nuzzled her leg, and with a soft chuckle, began to scratch behind the feline's ears anew.

"I mean... we know Skyrim's a dangerous place, aye? This ain't no real news... but if Ulfric's askin' us t'help Runael, shit's probably gettin' real over there. 'Sides, we both know there ain't no turnin' down his 'requests' for help."

"True." Adalla stopped scratching the saber cat's ear long enough to slide her arms around the cat and hug affectionately. "So... Winterhold?"

"Aye. I were hopin' we could stay a bit longer, but 'parently, this ain't something what can wait. We leave in the mornin', so we ain't gotta trudge through the wilds in the dark."

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Well then... wanted to get this up yesterday, and along the way, I convinced myself I did... alas, the curse of feeling sick. It was much worse the day before yesterday, though._

_Neria is the last of the 'new characters' introduced with Eventide, and she'll have quite the important role in the story. For now, I just wanted to get it out there that she's not afraid of diving into combat, that she wears Nordic carved armor, and that she wields Dawnbreaker. Because in-game, she did all of those. I always envisioned her as a paladin, of sorts: fights to protect the weak and purge the unholy, that sort of thing. Dawnbreaker seems a natural fit for such a fighter. I just wish it were a tad stronger in-game, honestly. It's a Daedric Artifact; I'm sure they can get away with upping the power just a little more. As for what she's doing in Skyrim... well, that'll come to surface soon._

_Adima's fully grown, and has been domesticated quite well. Mia and Adalla take her just about everywhere now, except those places where people look at a saber cat and shift uneasily. Mia's learned to read, at long last, so that's no longer a hindrance to her. Adalla, though it hasn't become apparent just yet, has also become far more skilled over the years as an adventurer. All three have definitely developed since the events of IAD._

_I have no idea what I was sick with, or may still be recovering from (not feeling the greatest as of now), but it was quite depressing to get hit with it, full force, on my birthday (Sunday). It's had an affect on my appetite, too. I haven't had an appetite for a few days now, and it literally feels like I'm eating too much - even if I haven't eaten in hours, as was the case with breakfast yesterday morning and this morning. I typically skip lunch anyhow, so really, I just have breakfast and dinner. Even dinner, last night, a good ten hours after I ate, felt like it was too much. Anticipating much the same today, and probably tomorrow, too..._

_I could go on and on about what's been ailing me, but I'd rather not. At this point, it's the loss of appetite that has me most concerned; everything else, I can just deal with._

_-Spiritslayer_


	6. Preparing To Depart

"I have news for Larian," came Derrick's voice from the other side of the door. Larian looked up at this and frowned.

"The boss ain't seein' no one, you bastard," came the coarse reply from the bandit standing guard at the door to her quarters. "She'll come and find you when she's good and ready." She had to admire the bandit's tenacity and gall, but somehow suspected it would have dire repercussions.

The sound of something hard striking the door, accompanied by a grunt and groan of pain and topped off with the sound of something sliding down the door met her ears. The door opened shortly thereafter to reveal Derrick standing in the doorway - the bandit on his back, clutching at the back of his head.

"Were you not so important, I'd take your head off for assaulting one of my own," Larian said coolly. "He was right, by the way. I'm not seeing anybody right now. Get out, Derrick, and-"

"Skyrim's High King has secured help to retake Rorikstead. Your men at Helgen failed to take the town altogether because of some noteworthy resistance," he interrupted. She was irritated that he saw fit to interrupt her, but his news was definitely important enough to make it forgivable.

"My men had no orders to take Helgen," she muttered. "I can only imagine a handful decided they'd ingratiate themselves to me by taking the town, much as we took Rorikstead." She sighed heavily. "Idiots. They deserved whatever they got." She watched the guard bandit climb to his feet slowly. "Leave us," she commanded. "Derrick and I need to talk in private."

The bandit nodded, shot the Imperial a glare filled with pure venom, and stormed out of the inn altogether.

"Did you really have to bash his head against the door that hard?" Larian asked, crossing her arms. She wasn't entirely sure that was what happened, and even doubted it - Derrick was slight of build, after all, and she seriously doubted he had the physical strength to perform such a thing - but she couldn't think of anything else it could have been.

"I think you and I both agree my news was vital enough to justify it," he replied. Her brow quirked as he neither confirmed nor denied the 'head bashing' part.

"Be that as it may, be careful who you rough up. Just because I say you're important doesn't mean the others won't slit your throat in the middle of the night if you piss them off."

"I'll take that to heart." He leaned against the doorframe. "So what now?"

"Who told you about... well, both of those? About Helgen and the High King?"

Derrick only pointed skyward. She found this curious.

"Explain."

"Clavicus Vile takes care of his own," Derrick said smoothly. His words brought no small degree of loathing to Larian's mind. Was he suggesting that Vile didn't consider her an ally, or worthy of trust in any shape, way or form? "He has given me something through which to communicate with him," he added. "You can relax." She hadn't realized her hands had balled into tight fists until he'd said she could relax.

"Don't you tell me what to do," she hissed. The explanation was satisfactory, but it didn't ease her mind in the least. She did relax her hands, however, so the fists became slack. "And he hasn't given such a thing to me... why?"

"You have not been in his service nearly as long as I have. I have his trust because I've served him for a couple years now." That answer did set her mind at ease, and she felt the anger die down considerably.

"Fair enough. Was he generous enough to tell you who Ulfric sent to Rorikstead?"

"They haven't left for the town yet, so we are in no immediate danger... but Ulfric secured the help of an old friend to retake Rorikstead. Someone he trusts rather implicitly."

"Probably some Nord knuckle-dragger, then," Larian mused. "Even so, they'll eventually reach Rorikstead, and if they're someone Ulfric trusts, they're capable. We'll eventually have to give up on holding Rorikstead." She stared at Derrick for a few moments. "Did you find-"

"I did. There's an unusually large amount of magical energy in Labyrinthian. I heard the stories, that it had been visited in years past... but something still persists. Something remains, and I'm sure it's that 'something' which Clavicus wants."

Larian had also heard the stories of Labyrinthian, and a frown crossed her lips. She didn't want to venture into the legendary ruin for any reason, but knew she'd have to eventually. There were likely to be dangers the likes of which she'd never even dreamed possible.

"There's also a source of energy in a Dwemer ruin to the southeast of here," he continued.

This made Larian's frown grow, and she gave him a dubious look. She'd seen maps of Skyrim before, had traveled the wilds before.

"There are no Dwemer ruins to the southeast of here," she said flatly. "Southwest, perhaps, but southeast of here is southern Whiterun Hold and Falkreath Hold. Neither one hosts a Dwemer ruin."

"Not above ground," he said with a nod. She blinked at this, and forced herself not to belt him for smirking at her.

"Is there somewhere we could reach it from?" she asked. If she could take her mind off his air of superiority, she wouldn't need to try quite so hard to refrain from knocking him out cold with a punch.

"No, but there is a cave close by. With some digging, we could probably reach it ourselves."

"So you're suggesting I make my boys dig holes. Wonderful." She sighed wearily. "I'd rather not..."

"Do you have any better plans?" he asked, a rather amused tone slipping to his voice. He looked surprised when she smirked and nodded.

"I do, in fact..."

* * *

She'd become something of a local hero for her help in Helgen. Jerra no longer charged her for a room, and the townsfolk were amiable, more so than before.

The Stormcloaks, however, were wary of her. To that end, she'd been asked to 'visit' the keep and speak with them. She surmised she knew why. She was not wrong.

"I'm in Skyrim on business," she replied. She was seated in a chair in what appeared as though it was once a torture room. A table sat in front of her; across from her sat a Stormcloak, whose helmet hid his head from view.

"What sort of business?" he asked gruffly. She'd recognized his voice from the very start of this unofficial interrogation; it was the same Stormcloak who'd asked her for her help in freeing Helgen from the bandits.

"My employer, back home in High Rock, has business partners here in Skyrim. He sent me here to help them with something." It was the truth; she had papers saying as much.

"And that brings you to Helgen?" he challenged.

"I was in Elsweyr before I was asked to come here. I came north from Cyrodiil - Bruma to be exact. I have papers, if you want to see them." He nodded, and she began to rummage through her pack for them. "Though I will admit, this entire process seems... peculiar, considering..."

"While your help was welcome, Neria, we can't let just anyone stay here because they helped us with something. Anybody else might assume you brought those bandits here to look like a hero."

"That's a bit... much."

"I don't think like that, but not everyone thinks like me," he replied. "This is official process anyhow."

"I got through the border already, though. Why is this-" she began. She stopped when he held up his hand.

"Not everyone crosses the border legally. Did you hear about the Dragonborn, several years ago? The man who defeated Alduin and saved all of us? He crossed the border illegally."

"He wasn't thrown out?" she asked, quirking a brow.

"We had no High King then. Besides, once it came to light that he'd crossed the border illegally, throwing him out of Skyrim would really have been counterproductive. We could very easily be dead if that had happened."

"And now?" She was a little surprised to see the Stormcloak's shoulders slump a little.

"No one knows. He's been missing for eight years now. Far as anyone can tell, he's probably dead."

She only gave a small nod in response. Her fingers brushed against the small bundle of papers, and she grasped it firmly and withdrew it from the pack. She quickly thumbed through each of them to make sure they were all there, then extended them to the Stormcloak. She simply sat and waited for him to look them over. Neria had questions, but figured they could wait until after he was done.

"I'll have to confirm this with Nurelion, of course," the Stormcloak finally said, handing the bundle of papers back to Neria. "You'll have to stay here in Helgen until I get word back that Nurelion's indeed expecting you."

"No worries," she replied with a smile. "Those bandits came here for a reason, I'm sure; I have to wonder if they'll make another attempt at Helgen anytime soon." The Stormcloak gave a nod to this.

"You'll be under watch until we can figure up the truth of the matter. Business and all."

"Yes, yes," she sighed. "I understand, and you won't have any trouble from me."

"Be that as it may..." He stood up slowly. "Well, we're finished, then."

* * *

"The Arch-Mage is a common pawn."

The words made Runael bristle, and she glowered into the glowing pit.

"Am I wrong?"

"I am no pawn, Augur," she retorted. She rested her hands on the edge of the pit and sighed softly. She'd had trouble sleeping the past few nights, and hearing the Augur call for her didn't do much to settle her further. Unable to sleep, she'd decided to pay him a visit. These first few words were not particularly encouraging.

"And yet, you are preparing to do a task for someone, simply because they asked."

She had no real retort to that. She could try and reword it as she desired, but she knew that that was all it was - rewording.

"It is not unfamiliar, I suppose. You are adept at sticking your nose in others' business."

"Meaning...?" When the Augur didn't reply, she sighed wearily. "I'm not looking forward to this either, but for the sake of Skyrim's people, it ought to be done."

"And you must go along?"

"Ulfric can't very well go traipsing around Skyrim anymore, and my friends will need perspective from one of us. Again, I don't like it, but I must do this." The glow flickered briefly; she'd seen the flicker before and knew what it meant. "Don't give me that look. They're just bandits; how bad could this be?"

"Worse than you are thinking," he replied. Those words left her unsettled, and she held her breath, awaiting some dire warning or prophecy of some sort. "Toward the end of the path, between Arch-Mage, apprentice, Dragonborn and fighter, one of you will have perished. Whether the rest survive or not will depend on how clear the survivors' minds are."

Hearing that she, Mia, Adalla or Elsera were all but certain to die left Runael speechless, wide-eyed and horrified. Her mind went blank for several moments, and her vision became unfocused as she pondered the warning.

"Knowing this, will you press on? Knowing that you will lose a friend - if not your own life - will you continue?"

"I..." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "...Have no choice. The word has been sent, and it's only a matter of time now... I'm not going to waste their time by telling them I've changed my mind. I will do all I can to protect those dear to me. I... I defy your dire warning, Augur."

"As long as you remember that I gave it when the moment has arrived, I do not care either way. Just remember, Arch-Mage... not all criminals possess linear thought. Some are craftier than you give them credit for. That will lead to the inevitable death." With that, the light began to dim in the pit.

"Can't you just tell me who it is?" she finally grumbled. "I don't want to worry non-stop about it; it'll affect my sleep."

The light was extremely faint now, but still present. Runael held her breath again, hoping against all hope that the Augur would tell her.

"I could," he murmured, "but knowing will only make it worse."

To that, she had no reply beyond silent acknowledgement. Nonetheless, she was starting to worry. She lifted her hands from the edge of the Augur's pit and sighed quietly.

"I'll defy this tragic fate of yours, Augur," she finally said. "And when I return triumphant, you and I will have a long talk about your incessant vagueness."

"No," he said, the light fading entirely from the pit. "We won't."

It was his tone with the last three words that made her think there was more than a simple denial to his reply. She was of a mind to speak up again, but knew, deep down, that he was gone for now.

* * *

**_A.N. _**_\- Larian, Neria and Runael. I couldn't really foresee myself writing about anyone else in this chapter. Larian's segment turned out the best, in my opinion; Runael's was alright. I do have some regrets about Neria's segment, but I just don't know how else to rewrite the entire segment. Hopefully, there will be more to come in the chapters to come._

_I say 'hopefully' because I haven't touched Ch. 7 in almost two weeks. I seem to have hit a slump, unfortunately; I want to write certain characters, but I simultaneously don't want to feel like I'm focusing too much on one or the other more than others. I know some people do that, but I feel... guilty, I guess, if I do it. I'm also admittedly having conflicting thoughts on how to arrive at the first major plot development; there are two to three different ways I could arrive at it, and I'm not really sure which is best. Couple that uncertainty with a general sense of weariness as of late, and... yeah. I'll try and get some more writing done over the week; Ch. 7, contrary to my previous belief, is NOT done yet, and because of that, there's nothing to follow it at present. If I'm going to stick to my posting schedule (as I really want to), I'll need to get to it._

_-Spiritslayer_


	7. On The Road

The order to evacuate Rorikstead had been met with some reluctance by Larian's bandits. They had become comfortable in the town, and were loath to let it go for any reason. Hearing that it would come under attack before long, however, was more than enough to urge even the most stubborn bandit into leaving.

That had left Larian to wonder where they would hole up next. She had to admit, she'd become quite comfortable in the town as well, and was going to miss having a comfortable bed to sleep in. Ruined forts seemed rather out of the question in comparison; caves, even more so.

Then she'd heard rumors of an abandoned encampment, somewhere in the Reach. Formerly used by a band of Khajiit, all of whom had either been killed or moved on to other things over the years. On the one hand, she liked the thought of settling into the encampment... but on the other, she did not like the prospect of living in the Reach, given her history with the natives.

"You have history with the Forsworn?" Derrick mused.

"I do. They consistently assaulted our camp over the course of a few years, and killed several of us. We gave almost as good as we got, though; I killed many Forsworn myself." She scowled and glanced over her shoulder at the Imperial mage. "Which earned me some notoriety among the Forsworn. I have no idea how long I'd survive in the Reach, if they caught word of me being there."

He gave a small nod, and they both continued in silence.

While Larian had ordered the rest of the bandits to evacuate Rorikstead and seek refuge among the other bandit camps, she and Derrick had set out to the east. She hadn't dismissed the notion of digging through a cave to reach the underground Dwemer ruin, but refused to force her bandits to dig through it themselves.

To that end, she and Derrick had opted to 'convince' several miners from the eastern reaches of Skyrim to do the digging for them. Darkwater Crossing and Shor's Stone were high on her list of places to visit for that purpose. They had passed the capital of Whiterun several hours ago, and were coming up on the Valtheim Towers.

Traveling alone with Derrick had given her some insights as to the mage's fighting abilities, as well as snippets of his own past.

"Let's get back to you, though," she continued after a few more minutes of silence had passed. "You were wanted in the Imperial City?"

"Not just the Imperial City, but throughout all Cyrodiil," he replied.

"For...?"

"None of your business. It's a province away." As usual, he'd proven elusive on the finer details of his own past. All she'd learned about him so far was that he'd awoken a few years ago outside the Imperial City with no memory of his past, and had scraped by doing odd jobs. He'd discovered the shrine to Clavicus Vile months after that, and had opted to serve the Daedric Prince. It hadn't been easy, but it had gotten easier over time. He'd crossed the border to Skyrim illegally on Vile's orders, so as to help Larian accomplish what she'd been tasked with.

That was all he'd shared with her. If she was being honest, it was all she cared to know about him, at first... but traveling alone with him had made her far more curious than before. That he was so insistent on withholding the details irritated her, but she did her best to suppress it. It wouldn't do if she attacked him in aggravation, after all.

"Do you really think your crime is going to change my opinion of you?" she mused. "I dislike you already; my opinion of you could only get better at this point."

"Fair enough, but it's still none of your business."

She scowled and faced forward, to look at the bandit standing guard outside the first tower's entrance. The bandit was advancing toward them, but the closer Larian and Derrick got, the slower the bandit moved. She eventually stopped and pointed at Larian.

"Larian!" she exclaimed. "I... wh-what are you doing out here?"

"Good to see you too, Nadine," Larian said with a chuckle. "Rorikstead will be visited by His Racist Majesty's cronies before long, so we've abandoned it for our safety."

"I... see." The bandit named Nadine looked at Derrick. "So who's the Imperial?"

"His name is Derrick, and he's an ally. He can be... well, barely trusted." Larian also looked at him. "Derrick, this is Nadine, one of the few survivors of the years in the Reach."

"Ah. So a friend of yours." Derrick's tone was rather dismissive. "Might we stay the evening-" He stopped once Larian cleared her throat and shot him a pointed glare. The request had already been made, though, so there was no sense in Larian repeating it. She instead glanced at Nadine.

"Of course," she replied, looking at Larian. "There's something you could help us settle anyhow, so this works out."

"Problem?" Larian asked, quirking a brow. She and Derrick followed Nadine into the tower.

"Yeah. Some guy attacked us without any provocation," Nadine grumbled. "We lost a couple, but managed to take him down. He's still alive, but he's a captive. We've been arguing as to what to do with him, but maybe you can settle this for us." Larian glanced at Derrick, who only gave a small shrug.

"Well... there _is_ a cave to the west..." Larian began with a reaffirming nod to Derrick.

* * *

"Winterhold," Mia grumbled. "I ain't missed this frigid corner." She pulled her white fur cloak tighter around her, trying to warm herself. She, Adalla and Adima had reached the College and were waiting for Runael at this point. Mia and Adalla were just inside the Hall of the Elements, with the doors to the Arch-Mage's quarters on their left and the Arcaneum on their right; Adima sat outside, at the paranoid request of more than one staff member's request.

"We're only here for a little while, I hope," Adalla reminded her partner. "Unless Runael's business is here in the hold."

"Gods, I hope not," Mia muttered. "Why can't it ever be some warmer place, like... Falkreath, or even the Rift?"

"Let's not forget that you've chosen to live here for the past... eleven? Twelve years?" Adalla couldn't remember exactly how long Mia had lived in Skyrim. "And yet, you don't complain about Solstheim when we visit Frea there."

"Solstheim ain't always bleary like Winterhold," Mia mumbled.

"I'd say you get used to it," came a third voice, familiar to both of them, "but just when you think you are, Skyrim catches you off-guard." Both women turned their attention to the third speaker, emerging from the Arch-Mage's quarters: an Altmer with pale blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, green eyes glimmering with amusement, and a pack slung over her shoulder. Behind her stood a Dunmer with black hair, red eyes and a similar pack, though it appeared lighter. Both were wearing robes: the Altmer wore what both Adalla and Mia recognized as the Arch-Mage's robes, though the hood was down for now, while the Dunmer wore a light brown robe with a small, darker brown drape over her shoulders.

"Runael," Adalla said with a smile, stepping forward to embrace her old friend. "It's been a while."

"So it has, Adalla," the Arch-Mage replied, returning the hug firmly. "Solstheim treated you well?"

"Excludin' eight years ago, it ain't treated us badly afore," Mia replied with a small chuckle. She stepped toward Runael, who was letting go of Adalla, and slid her arms around the Arch-Mage in a gentle hug. "Good t'see ya again."

"Aye," Runael replied with a light wink.

"Oy, that's me thing," Mia said.

"Galmar wants words with you, then," came the chuckled reply. Mia didn't respond to that. "You two remember Elsera?"

"Aye," Mia said, glancing at the Dunmer. "She ain't gonna turn me purple again, is she?"

"That was Brelyna," Elsera retorted, "and it was a prank."

"...Oh," the Akaviri woman replied, looking sheepish. "Er... sorry."

"She's coming with us?" Adalla asked Runael, glancing at Elsera.

"I'm not letting her do this alone," the Dunmer replied.

"We're with her," Mia reminded her.

"I mean from..." Elsera sighed. "If she's going to do this, I'm going with her. Simple as that."

"As she says. I tried to talk her out of it, but she's always insistent on, ah... 'protecting' me."

"You told her 'no' once, then began making plans together once she said 'yes', didn't you?" Adalla mused with a chuckle.

"You know me too well," Runael replied with a quick wink. "Anyway, we ought to be off. The sooner we get out there, the sooner we'll be out of Winterhold. We're heading to Rorikstead to deal with a bandit problem."

"That's what's so urgent as t'pull us from Solstheim?" Mia said with disbelief.

"They've held Rorikstead for over two weeks," Elsera said. "How normal is that?" When no response was given, she nodded. "Ulfric and Runael both think there's a leader behind Skyrim's bandits, and that they're at Rorikstead. Catch the leader, and the rest will fall into disarray, or so the theory goes."

"Eh... fair enough." Mia gestured to the doors leading outside. "Hope ya both got yer own bedrolls. We'll all be sharin' a tent, but I only got me own bedroll and Adalla's only got hers."

"Of course we do," Elsera replied, tapping her pack gently.

"You two don't sleep in one together?" Runael mused with a wink. The comment brought a small blush to Adalla's cheeks and made Elsera roll her eyes. Mia simply shook her head at the question. "Curious, but I won't press the matter."

"It's hardly any of your business anyway," Adalla replied with a light huff. She braced herself against the cold as Mia opened the doors that back out to Skyrim, and watched the Akaviri woman and Elsera step outside. She glanced at Runael for a moment.

"What? I said I won't press-"

"What aren't you telling us?" Adalla murmured softly, cutting off the Arch-Mage. "I know you well enough to know when something's bothering you. This is one of those times."

"What makes you think something's bothering me?" Runael replied, quirking a brow.

"You have a tell," was all Adalla said in response. The response made the Arch-Mage sigh slowly and heavily. "I don't mind you keeping it from Elsera and Mia, but we've been best friends for so long... don't treat me like I don't deserve to know."

"It's just something the Augur said. It's not important."

"It's important enough to have you unsettled," Adalla pressed.

"Not important enough to worry you over, though," Runael added. "It's fine, Adalla. Everything will be fine." She didn't give Adalla a chance to press any further; she stepped outside into the biting cold of Skyrim, leaving the other Altmer to feel irked. Adalla mentally cursed Runael for being so dismissive of whatever was troubling her, but followed her outside.

* * *

Helgen's residents had been sad to see Neria go, but word had gotten back to the town that Nurelion was, in fact, waiting for her - and was growing rather irritable that her visit was being delayed, at that. The Stormcloak whom Neria had become friends with, Galar, had been to the White Phial in the past, and knew that an irritable Nurelion would only get worse over time; he'd been the one to suggest that Neria leave Helgen as soon as possible, lest the elderly Altmer lose his patience altogether.

She'd taken him up on the suggestion, and had been on the road east of Helgen for at least a day now. The sun was starting to set behind her, and she knew she'd have to find a place to sleep for the evening... if not set up camp somewhere safe. She'd heard the stories of how vicious Skyrim's wilderness could be, especially for the unwary at night. She was not keen on living one such story for herself, even despite all her skill in combat. A sleepy warrior was a poor warrior, or so her old mentor had once told her. She was always inclined to believe it.

She'd seen her fair share of danger since leaving Helgen, but she'd also had some interesting encounters, as well. There was a trio of Nords drinking, laughing and otherwise having a good time; one of them had given her a bottle of something she'd never seen or heard of before, Honningbrew Mead. When she'd asked, she'd learned there used to be another meadery on the road just south of Whiterun, Honningbrew... but that it had gone under because of an incident involving the captain of Whiterun's guard. Honningbrew Meadery never recovered from the incident, and it eventually closed, to be replaced instead by a secondary Black-Briar location. Honningbrew was rare nowadays because of it, and according to the Nords, tasted far better than the 'Black-Briar poison'. They had departed shortly thereafter, their own moods soured by the mere fact that Black-Briar had even been mentioned.

She'd also come across what appeared to be a fellow Breton... except he'd appeared quite sickly, and she'd kept her distance so as not to risk becoming ill herself. She'd pursed her lips at mention of Peryite - whom the Breton had apparently served once - but held her tongue. Barring Meridia and Azura, there was no Daedric Prince nor follower of such that Neria trusted. She'd kept a wary eye on his receding figure until he had disappeared over the small hill she'd just crossed over.

She'd had her fair share of dangerous encounters, too: a wolf pack, a pair of saber cats, a thief who thought to try and rob her, and a flame atronach that, from the looks of the situation, a conjurer had been unable to maintain control over, if his nearby charred corpse was any indicator. None of these things were too dangerous for her to handle, however, and only the atronach had given her any real trouble.

It was all more than enough to give her an idea as to what some of the developments in Skyrim, both recent and otherwise, had been. She'd known full well that it had been host to a civil war years ago, of course - news of its end had spread like wildfire, and even reached her in Elsweyr four years ago - but little else was said about Skyrim. The two friendly encounters she'd had only served to remind her that beneath its rugged beauty, Skyrim was still, for all intents and purposes, a land of turmoil... that, although the civil war was over, the province was still plagued with its own problems.

She shook her head and snapped herself out of her reflections. A distracted warrior begs for death, or so her mentor had told her in the past... several times, as she'd been quite easily distracted in her earlier years of learning. While the memory brought a brief smile to her lips, she felt it slip when she remembered that, in a fit of irony, her old mentor had died because - as fate would have it - he had been distracted in battle. She had ingrained that particular lesson deep into her mind, such that she was confident that even if she forgot everything else, she'd remember that.

Her attention, then, was brought back rapidly by a pair of figures ahead of her. One wore a black robe with a hood over their head; she decided this figure was a mage, and opted to keep her distance. She did not like tangling with magic, even despite her innate resistance to it. She turned her attention to the other figure next, curious as to whether or not they were a mage as well. The other figure wore what she surmised to be hide armor; she couldn't really tell from the distance she'd put between herself and the two unknown figures. Unlike the robed figure, however, the second figure didn't wear a hood - which revealed what seemed to be dark brown hair.

Neria froze. She'd not seen hair that dark since... She put it from her mind and, without thinking, started running toward them. She needed to be certain. Footfall after heavy footfall heralded her approach, and both figures turned to face her. The robed figure, sure enough, suddenly had flames dancing in their palm - while the lightly armored figure was lifting a pair of crude iron war axes from their waist. She slowed her approach, and eventually came to a stop.

The figure in light armor was male. It wasn't...

"Something we can help you with?" the robed figure asked snidely. This close, Neria could see the scales beneath the hood that identified the mage as an Argonian.

"Come now, Sees," the other figure said with a wicked chuckle. "Obviously she wished to throw her life away, charging us so recklessly." He sounded to be a Nord, but Neria wasn't positive.

"She slowed and stopped, though," Sees said after a moment's pause.

"And that's our cue to charge her, instead," the Nord mused, taking several steps toward Neria. "You picked a bad time to get lost, 'friend'," he continued, addressing Neria directly.

"Bandits?" was all she asked.

"We like to think of it as 'living outside the law'," the Argonian named Sees replied. The fires in his hands intensified briefly, and he brought his hands together. She recognized the fact that they weren't giving her an option to back off, and drew Dawnbreaker from its sheath slowly.

"You're not Larian," was all she said before she charged at the Nord.

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Neria knows Larian. Neria knows Larian. This is actually going to have a HUGE impact on the overall story, but why? Well... that's giving away the surprise early._

_Fun fact: the Argonian named Sees is a 'throwback' to an old Argonian character I played way back when, when Skyrim first came out. Sees-Too-Much. I found the name amusing, and rolled with it for a while. (Sees in Eventide, however, is not the same as Sees-Too-Much from my old game.)_

_Larian's history with the Forsworn was just something I thought up in the earlier minutes of the game, when I was chilling at Four Skull Overlook. Figured 'this is probably one of the only places in the Reach where the Forsworn are not situated...', and BAM! Bad blood with the Forsworn was born. It's just stuck ever since._

_So my 'W' key is being stupid. In the next couple chapters in particular, I kept having typo after typo after typo - because pressing the 'W' key would not result in a 'W' appearing. I hope to all that is holy this computer lasts for quite some time yet, as I suspect I'll have it for much longer than I care for... but as a head's up, if you come across a word where the 'W' is missing... that's why. I checked this chapter over with 's spell-checker, and will do the same with the next two chapters (which are both completely finished), but it's still irritating all the same._

_-Spiritslayer_


	8. Conflict

None of them had known what to expect when they reached Rorikstead. Although they'd kept their evenings camped in the wilderness wrought with stories, laughs and the like, all four of them knew at heart that the journey to Rorikstead had a purpose. Once they had reached Whiterun, they'd begun planning how best to infiltrate the town and find the bandits' assumed leader. Mia had been given the task of slipping into the town to search for the assumed leader, while Runael and Elsera would keep an eye on the western and eastern gates; Adalla would watch the town from the hill looming to the south, and would go wherever she was needed most. They had all silently agreed that it would be easiest to do under the cover of night.

The lack of bandits outside either gate was their first warning sign that something was amiss. The second sign was that the gates were opened for the Arch-Mage and her apprentice. The third and final sign was that Mia, although successful in infiltrating the town, had found no bandits strutting about within.

"They knew we were coming?" Adalla said in disbelief. All four of them had since reunited in the tavern, where they were unable to believe what had ultimately transpired. There had been a table pulled away from the wall, and a bench had been moved to the other side. All four of them were seated at the table, two on each side.

"Seems so," Mia muttered.

"I've told no one else of this," Runael said, frowning. "I don't think Ulfric would waste our time by letting it slip, either." She was hesitant to continue, but did so. "The only explanation is that there's a spy in the palace, and they heard Ulfric and I discussing the matter."

The citizens of Rorikstead had been able to confirm that there had indeed been bandits in the town for a couple weeks. They had even given a very detailed description of the one to whom the rest answered to. They spoke of an Imperial mage, as well, who was the only individual the bandits had permitted to enter and leave the town freely - although the first time had been met with much suspicion from the bandits. Matching accounts from the citizenry had dismissed the notion that there were no bandits in Rorikstead to begin with, as Elsera assumed was the case.

Then, almost a week ago, the bandits had just... left. There was no explanation offered to the citizenry, no apologies given for occupying their town. While the citizens were baffled, they had nonetheless been glad to know that the bandits had apparently given up.

Runael was less than pleased, however, to know that the bandit leader had given them the slip. While she was glad the town was liberated, she was silently furious that the bandits had left. She was not looking forward to notifying Ulfric of the development in any shape, way or form; in the past, even the mere suggestion that his Stormcloaks may have been compromised in some way was more than enough to anger him. He and Runael had stopped talking several times in the past because she'd dared suggest it. And now she had to suggest it again.

"Sometimes, I wonder if my relationship with Ulfric is worth the trouble," she sighed, rubbing her temples wearily. "He's not going to be pleased to hear this."

"Relationship?" Adalla asked, looking shocked.

"'Friendship' may be the best way to describe it," Runael said once she realized how her words could be taken. "Nothing like what you're thinking." She looked at Mia, then Elsera, then Adalla. "There's nothing more we can do here, in regards to the bandits. I suppose we should head to Windhelm and notify Ulfric in person."

"Is that wise?" Elsera asked. She knew about Ulfric's temper because she'd been witness to it once, and had heard even more tales of it from Runael. The Arch-Mage knew his temper was exactly why Elsera was asking.

"Better to speak with him directly than write a letter and make it seem like I'm scared of him," the Altmer replied. There were no arguments there from the other three.

"Why did they leave, though?" Adalla murmured. "Surely there weren't so few of them that they had no chance whatsoever...?"

"They didn't," Mia replied with a chuckle. "No gang of bandits've got a chance in Oblivion 'gainst the four of us."

"I mean... from their point of view, what's a small group of would-be heroes? Why wouldn't they stick around and fight for Rorikstead - maybe even destroy it, once they realized they're outmatched?" Adalla continued. "You and I have seen it a lot in the past, Mia: bandits in caves or ruined forts, thinking I was alone or the other way around, and even when they saw both of us, they still thought they had a better chance than us of winning."

"Perhaps the leader's smarter than that," Runael said after a time. "Lead her men to their deaths, then take the town down while she goes down swinging? Typical for a power-hungry idiot, perhaps, but..."

"Not smart enough to leave the town be in the first place," Elsera muttered.

"I didn't say she was a genius." The Dunmer offered no reply to the amused comment from Runael. "My point is, this does seem to confirm there's a leader of bandits... if not throughout Skyrim, then with this particular band. She's very dangerous, if she's able to take a town and hold it, and know when it's best to retreat when faced with imminent threats."

"You think she has former experience in these sort of things, like a former commander or some such?" Adalla asked.

"It's not impossible, but if the descriptions are right, she doesn't sound to be that old. Mid-to late-twenties, perhaps... not a lot of time to have years of experience like that. If she was a former commander, she must have led from a rather young age." Runael sighed lightly. "To be honest, that's a terrifying thought... because if that's the case, then she must be a prodigy... if not a genius."

"Maybe we're giving her too much credit," Elsera began slowly. "They'd settled in for a couple weeks, right? Then the Imperial mage comes along, and not long after that, they leave Rorikstead. What if he had something to do with it?"

"Same sort of deal, I'd think," Adalla replied. "Except it would mean he's the prodigal former commander, not her... and yet, she was the one giving orders, the one the rest answered to - the Imperial mage included."

"Sitting here contemplating it won't resolve it any sooner, sadly." Runael swung her legs over the bench and stood up, stretching her legs a little. "We'll make for Windhelm and inform Ulfric of the development. From there, we'll see what our next move is."

* * *

Larian had felt quite pleased with herself. It wasn't because she had captured miners from Darkwater Crossing several days ago, or that she'd followed that up with miners from Shor's Stone but a couple days ago. It was the fact that she'd ordered Derrick to keep an eye on the miners as they dug through the cavern that would get them to the Dwemer ruin. He wouldn't be alone, of course; she'd sent Nadine and several other bandits from the Valtheim Towers to Falkreath, and they would be at the cave to keep the miners in check, make sure none of them - particularly the orc from Shor's Stone - would give Derrick any trouble.

Above all else, she was quite pleased to find that he was very irritated being effectively assigned the position of 'foreman'. All that mattered to her was the space it gave her from him. He had always grated on her nerves, of course - always trying to order her around when she was the one in charge, for example - but the opportunity was simply too great to pass up.

She, in the meantime, had told him she'd be 'somewhere in the northern reaches of Skyrim'. Larian had chosen to be so vague and stay that vague just to annoy him, but she also suspected that Vile would tell him where she was anyway... which worked out, considering she didn't know exactly where she'd be staying. There weren't many bandits hanging around Labyrinthian, after all, which limited her options somewhat.

She had decided it best to split up. No one would suspect she was in Labyrinthian, looking around for whatever it was that gave off magical emanations strong enough to catch Vile's eye. Derrick, in turn, would do the same in the Dwemer ruin because she'd told him to. She felt as if she had triumphed in some battle against him once he had acquiesced to her wishes.

Of course, that had been but a couple days ago. As she drew closer to Labyrinthian, however, the satisfaction of bossing him around began to fade, and the tales and legends surrounding Labyrinthian came back to her. She was not keen on delving into the ancient and legendary ruin for any reason whatsoever, yet she had to do just that. She was of a mind to visit whatever bandits were nearest the ruin and bring them along, but she also reminded herself that should they fall, her overall grip on Skyrim would lessen. No, she would manage this alone... and yet, that sense of unease just would not leave her alone. She had a sneaking suspicion something was going to happen to her, and it was going to be her end... that this was some devious ploy of Vile's to get her killed for his own amusement. The fact that she'd had no contact with him directly since he'd given her this recent assignment did not alleviate this concern, either.

She was snapped back to reality when she felt something like the tip of a blade press against the back of her neck. She knew instantly it was no bandit; even if they didn't know her name, they knew her face and figure, and would know better than to pull a weapon on her.

"You serve Vile." The voice was male, though Larian couldn't figure out who her apparent assailant was.

"No idea what you're talking about," she replied calmly, continuing forward. She opted to stop when the tip of the blade departed the back of her neck - and the weapon's sharp edge suddenly found a place pressed, ever so slightly, against the front of her neck.

"Your lie does not amuse me," the mysterious man growled. "My lord is not blind. He knows what Vile plots, and knows your role in it."

"Enlighten me, then. I'd love to know what the bastard's up to." She decided there was no sense pretending she answered to no Daedric Prince.

"There is no point. You will be dead before long, and Vile's ploy thwarted." She felt the blade inch draw but a hair closer to her neck.

She didn't permit him to pull it any closer. One second, she drove her right elbow into the man's side, making him grunt in pain and causing the blade to still; the next, her left hand seized the blade and pulled it away from her neck, allowing her to step forward several paces and whirl around to face her assailant.

The man was clad in a black robe and had a hood up. He also wore a mask unlike anything she'd ever seen before. His hands were covered in a pair of gloves, such as those farmers or other workers typically wore; leather boots were upon his feet. It was a strange ensemble, as she'd traditionally seen mages wearing robes - yet this man had no magic radiating from his hand, and was instead fixing his grip on the steel blade in his right hand.

"I'll give you one last chance," Larian said calmly, reaching up to seize the hilt of her greatsword. "Tell me what Vile's up to."

"I have no more words for a dead woman," came the cold reply. She drew her blade and pointed it at him threateningly, then readied it for a charging thrust. She stopped, however, when she saw deep violet magic coalesce in his left hand. She knew what he was up to, but found herself curious all the same. It was her curiosity that caused her to still her blade for but a moment.

It was only a moment that the masked man needed. A rippling pool of magic appeared in the air briefly, and from its heart spilled forth a creature she'd never seen before. It towered over her, had long limbs, large hands, and what seemed to be a fish-like head. Its hands curled into fists, and it loosed an unearthly roar in her direction that unnerved her. Once it straightened up, it began to stomp toward her.

Larian had already recovered, however, and was charging the creature, greatsword drawn back. She stopped a couple steps away from it, planting her foot on the ground, and pivoted in place, swinging the greatsword with both hands in a wide arc in front of her. She felt the sharp edge of the blade bury itself into the creature's left arm... then stop. She blinked in surprise, and attempted to wrench the blade free of the creature's limb.

Its right fist came swinging at her left side, and she had but a couple seconds to react. She gave up on her greatsword for the time being, and instead leapt back a short distance, causing the creature's fist to miss. It had failed to strike her, but she was at a disadvantage. Her sword was still lodged in its left arm, and it apparently fought with its fists.

The sound of a footfall behind her was the only warning she received of an attack from behind. She spun around to face the assailant, and felt the tip of a steel sword pierce her right side. She winced, but bit down the cry of pain that she wished to release instead. The masked man had snuck around to flank her, and it was his sword that was being pushed just a little further into her side.

Between the large creature's fists and the blade pushing into her side, she decided the massive behemoth was an easier target to evade. She darted to the left and away from the blade; she felt the steel sword depart her side a moment before her left side hit the ground. A quick glance told her that, while she was on her side and on the ground, she was also between the creature's legs. The man was approaching her, while the creature was backing up slowly so it could strike her easier. For now, her eyes were on the masked man.

Her foot caught him square in the groin once he was close enough, and the blow made him double over. She was on her feet almost immediately after and sent her right knee soaring upward. She felt a grim satisfaction as her knee connected with his face full-force and heard the unmistakable sound of something breaking. The impact snapped him upright again; after a brief second's pause, he fell onto his back. His sword clattered on the ground as it fell from his hand; she was quick to kick it away from him, then follow the blade and snap it up in her own hands. The sound of a heavy impact upon the ground made her glance back - to see the large creature had slammed both of its fists into the ground where she'd been standing just a moment ago. Her greatsword was still lodged in its left arm, however, which made her very wary; surely its presence should have weakened such a blow...?

The masked man's gasp for air drew her attention to him once more, and the creature straightening up once more made her glance at it again. She was, at the least, determined to reclaim her blade, and so she charged at the creature with the steel sword in hand. It swung its right fist at her in fury; she ducked beneath the fist, then tumbled forward and between its legs. Once she was upright again, she was on one knee; she rose swiftly, turned to face the creature's back, and with all the might she could muster, drove the steel sword into the center of the creature's back, hoping it had a spine to pierce.

The creature roared in agony before falling forward. It wasn't moving much, though that didn't answer the question as to whether or not it had a spine. She was able to move to its left side, place her foot against its leg, and wrench her greatsword free. She buried its tip in the ground, and began to look for the masked man; she decided cutting his throat with his own sword would be a fitting, and somewhat ironic, end.

The creature dispersed into nothingness. Once it was gone, Larian realized that so, too, was the masked man. He had escaped her somehow.

"Coward," she growled. She threw his steel sword away from her, watching the weapon sail through the air before its tip was buried in the trunk of a tree. Pain radiated from her right side, reminding her that she'd been wounded; in the heat of the moment, she'd been able to zone it out. She ignored it long enough to grasp the hilt of her greatsword and replace it at her back, then gripped her right side firmly with her left hand.

She would treat it once she found a safer place. For now, treating her injury was inviting him to attack her again, were he still nearby. With that in mind, she set forth on her chosen path again... this time, trying to determine the identity of her mysterious assailant... and of his lord.

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Okay, so we all know who the attacker's lord is (possibly). That doesn't mean Larian has the 'meta' advantage. :P_

_I had a lot of fun with this chapter, particularly the fight. I can't really remember the last time I did anything like this - that is, a 1v2 situation. Typically, it's a 1v1 (unless I'm forgetting something somewhere...), so writing a 1v2 was equally challenging and fun. Plus, it gave me a chance to show off how Larian fights, just a bit. I just wish I still had screenshots of Larian...! x.x_

_Not a whole lot more to say here, really. Next chapter's ready for next week, and I should be able to write another chapter or two over the course of the next two weeks._

_-Spiritslayer_


	9. Audience With A Bear

No matter how hard she tried to dismiss it, Neria could not forget. No amount of mead in Candlehearth Hall, no mindless task for Nurelion, no feigned interest in any manner of topic with the local - and somewhat wary, if not hostile - Nords could make her forget.

It had been far too long since she'd last seen Larian Ravell... and yet, the hair on the Nord bandit over a week ago had looked so similar in its color. It had been more than enough to unsettle the Breton knight, who usually prided herself in her relatively unshakable personality. It hadn't affected her ability to perform tasks for Nurelion - most of which involved collecting ingredients that he could not go and collect himself, owing in large part to an ailment which had come over him in recent times - but it did leave her unable to sleep quite often. Every time she closed her eyes, she could only see the dark brown hair and emerald eyes she remembered Larian having. If she did sleep, it was to wake from a nightmare in which Larian was killed before her eyes - even despite the fact that, in truth, Larian had simply vanished from High Rock one day, and none had seen her since.

Nurelion's apprentice, Quintis Navale, had proven observant enough to know something was troubling Neria. She, in turn, had decided to confide in him, deciding it best to speak of it with someone - and she had surmised Nurelion simply wouldn't care. To the old high elf, Neria was nothing more than 'an aide from a business partner' - which was true, but still somewhat irksome to be told quite bluntly.

Quintis, on the other hand, had proven quite understanding. He'd shared his own tale of losing an old friend, never knowing what had happened to them, but always wanting to find out and have closure. His words had served to help ease her mind somewhat, but never were they enough to help her forget.

Neria had been coming back from a trip to the southern reaches of Eastmarch, where she'd been collecting jazbay grapes and dragon's tongue; she'd also chanced upon a few skeletons, which yielded bone meal, and had spent a couple evenings in a strangely derelict mining community, which, according to her map, was called Darkwater Crossing. There had been signs of a scuffle - burn marks on the side of the main farmhouse, several deep gashes in the wooden beams outside the mine that looked as if a large sword had been buried into them - but no bodies were anywhere to be found... not even in the lake nearby, which Neria had chosen to swim in a few times.

Darkwater Crossing had been attacked... but by whom? Neria had no answers to that question, and no one was there to answer the question for her. With no answers forthcoming, Neria had chosen to gather as many fish from the lake as she could carry back with her, had taken steps to preserve said fish so it didn't spoil on her trip back to Windhelm, and left the empty Darkwater Crossing behind. She would report it to the guards back in the city, and they would address the matter from there.

"I've returned," Neria began as she entered the White Phial. Night had fallen, and the shop was closed, but Nurelion had entrusted her with a key and permitted her to stay in the Phial instead of forcing her to stay in Candlehearth Hall... although she had to sleep on the wooden floor upstairs, as there was no spare bed for her to sleep in. Not the most comfortable arrangement, but she was fine with it.

She had not been expecting to see Nurelion and Quintis both behind the counter, arguing back and forth. She contemplated sticking her nose into the matter, but chose instead to silently put the ingredients she'd collected in safe storage places, where Nurelion would take care of them from there. Her curiosity would not ebb, however, and once she finished storing the ingredients she'd gathered, she decided she'd at least ask.

Nurelion was not quite so approachable for anything, least of all this particular matter, so she went to Quintis instead. He told her that Nurelion had found the final resting place of the apothecary's namesake - the White Phial - and that he wanted to retrieve it himself, but given the older elf's health, Quintis suggested it was a bad idea. Neria had to agree, although she didn't vocalize it.

"What if I retrieved it for him?" she offered.

"I... well, it would probably be safer than if he went after it," Quintis began tentatively, "but-" He was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Both Quintis and Neria fell silent.

"You would do that?" Nurelion's voice said, softly, from the stairs.

"Well... I am here to help you, no? If it's to be a dangerous trip, I'm admittedly better suited to retrieving it than either of you," she replied carefully.

"It was buried with its maker, Curalmil, in a long forsaken cave to the west of here," Nurelion replied, "so if you're the sort to believe in the walking dead, it may be a dangerous trip." His tone when speaking of the walking dead told Neria he didn't believe in such things. He then informed her that she'd need a mixture to reach the Phial itself, and upon passing a bottle to her, told her it was the mixture in question. She wasn't sure what to do with it, but decided to keep that uncertainty to herself for now. With a curt and grumpy way of saying 'thank you for agreeing to help me with this', Nurelion returned upstairs.

"Neria, are you sure that you-" Quintis began. She lifted her hand to silence him, however, and smiled at him.

"I'm sure, Quintis. You don't need to worry so." She didn't want to share her own anxiety over it. She'd delved into ruins and caves before for previous business partners of her employer, so the overall lifestyle of being an adventurer was not foreign to her... but it would be her first time actually delving into a crypt. She'd faced the skeletons dotting Eastmarch, but knew there were more undead creatures than shambling bones... and it was these 'more' that she'd never faced before.

He appeared ready to protest it even further, but let it go after a few moments. He simply nodded, gave her a small package containing potions that he had made, and wished her luck. She thanked him, then informed him she wouldn't be leaving until morning so she could get some rest for the trip ahead. With the new task at hand, she decided she'd restock her provisions, as well, and departed for Candlehearth Hall to see what they had for long journeys - as well as eat dinner, seeing whereas Nurelion, in his eternal 'hospitality', did not provide meals, only lodging.

She had almost reached Candlehearth Hall when she heard the unmistakable sound of a Nord saying 'Halt!' very near her. Unable to see anyone else nearby, she decided she was the one being told to stop, and complied.

"Are you the one who told the guards outside the gate about Darkwater Crossing?" It was a Stormcloak. The way 'Halt' had been said, she was expecting a weapon to be drawn, but no such weapon was.

"I am," she replied. "Is there a problem?"

"The High King wants to speak with you about it." This revelation stunned her. She was not accustomed to speaking to someone so important about something so... well, 'mundane' would be an understatement, as it was a fairly important issue, but she hadn't thought...

"When?" She was hoping it wouldn't clash with her ability to retrieve the White Phial. Between wandering through a crypt and meeting with the High King of Skyrim, she was honestly leaning more toward the crypt. She'd heard stories of Ulfric Stormcloak over the years, and had never thought to meet him... nor did she realistically want to.

"Right now," came the Stormcloak's reply. "He sent me to bring you to the palace."

"I..." She sighed softly. "...Lead the way, then. I'll just eat dinner afterwards."

The Stormcloak was not quite as friendly as Galar of Helgen. He said very little to her, and for the most part, ignored her when she tried to speak to him. She eventually gave up trying altogether, and simply made noises of empty acknowledgement whenever he said something. Once they reached the Palace of the Kings, the Stormcloak ushered her inside; she hesitated for only a moment before complying. Nothing she'd learned in the past had ever prepared her to meet royalty.

The great hall of the palace was vast and imposing. Neria felt ridiculously small in the hall, but forced her unease down. At the opposite end of the hall sat a throne wrought of stone, upon which sat a man clad in upper-class clothing. Standing in front of him, at the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne, was a man clad in what appeared to be fur armor, with a helm much like a bear's head upon his head. The two men were talking quietly with one another, but as she drew nearer, she could hear such things as 'bandits' and 'coincidence' - although the latter term was laced with negativity for whatever reason. The man on the throne noticed Neria once she was nearer, and held up his hand to interrupt the other man.

"I, ah..." Neria hesitated, and her mind went blank. After a time, she decided she'd do the respectful thing and dropped to a knee, bowing her head to him. "One of your soldiers told me you wished to speak to me, Your Majesty?" She glanced up at him, hoping that she'd not made a fool of herself; she assumed it was High King Ulfric Stormcloak seated upon the throne, but had no idea what he looked like, so she wasn't sure.

"Assuming you are the one who brought news of Darkwater Crossing back with you, yes," he replied. His deep voice practically shook her to her core, so commanding and imposing was it. She forced herself to remain calm. "Who are you, then, to bring such news back?"

"I- my name is Neria, and I've been helping Nurelion at the White Phial," she answered quickly. "I was gathering ingredients for him throughout Eastmarch the past couple of days, and came across Darkwater Crossing during that trip." The other man cleared his throat pointedly, and she realized why. "Your Majesty," she added, feeling foolish.

"Neria?" he said, quirking a brow. "I recognize your name. You were at Helgen when the bandits tried to take it. Galar's report spoke rather highly of you. It's not often an outsider throws their life on the line to defend Skyrim."

"To be fair, Your Majesty, very few outsiders are permitted into Skyrim to begin with," she said tentatively. To her immense relief and some surprise, he chuckled at this.

"True enough. Most have no business entering our home." He regarded her for a few moments in silence, and in time, she began to shift uneasily under his gaze. "Galar's report said you are a knight. Are you sworn to a lord?"

"No, though I am in the employ of-" She stopped when he lifted a hand.

"Then more a 'warrior' than 'knight'," he said. At this, she felt more than a little incensed.

"I swore an oath of knighthood," she replied rather defiantly, "vowing to protect the weak and innocent with my blood and honor. I'll not have that oath dismissed quite so easily. I serve no lord at present, but that does not invalidate my status, Your Majesty."

The other man glared at her and growled a bit at her defiance, but Ulfric remained rather calm in comparison. There was something in his eyes, however, that Neria could not readily identify.

"In place of a lord, then, you serve the people... when you aren't serving your employer." She didn't respond, as she saw no need; she presumed it to be a rhetorical statement. "To the heart of the matter, then. Tell me all you saw in Darkwater Crossing. Leave no detail unspoken; anything we can use to identify what happened to it is welcome."

She complied, telling him of the burn marks on the farmhouse, the deep gashes in the wooden beams, and the strangely absent bodies of any who may have died in the attack. She also mentioned how the mine itself had appeared as if it had been abandoned while the workers were in the middle of working; there had been chunks of stone and ore littering the ground within, and there were a couple pickaxes that appeared as if they'd been dropped in surprise, rather than set down. As she spoke of even the tiniest details she could recall, she noticed that both Ulfric and the other man were looking somewhat concerned; Ulfric's brows were furrowed as she recounted it to him. By the time she finished, he was stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"I've known something was amiss," he finally said. "Oengul War-Anvil, the blacksmith, recently informed me that he never received a shipment from Darkwater Crossing - a shipment he was supposed to receive several days ago. I sent soldiers to investigate, but they've not returned. To think it was attacked, however, and no bodies were found..."

"I... heard you mention bandits?" Neria asked slowly.

"Aye," the other man finally said, making her jump; his voice was rough and had something of a growl to it. "Bandits took Rorikstead a few weeks ago. You already know about their failed attempt to take Helgen. Bandits seem likely at Darkwater Crossing, but they didn't try taking it over for themselves this time."

"You can't be dismissive of it, Galmar," Ulfric replied. "Magic and blades were used in the attack. Bandits are the only things that use both in Skyrim."

"I'm not being dismissive, I'm trying to keep our options open. If we're wrong about the source of the attack?"

Neria shifted a little. She was starting to feel unnecessary, but didn't dare try to dismiss herself from their presence just yet.

"If we're wrong, then the only thing we do 'wrong' is purge Skyrim of more bandits. I fail to see a downside to that."

"We would let the real culprits run free," the man named Galmar replied. To this, Ulfric didn't respond; instead, he looked at Neria again.

"Do you have any plans in the near future?"

"I... well, tomorrow, I was planning to head to the west and retrieve something for Nurelion..." she said tentatively.

"So no." Again, she felt irked at his dismissive nature, but held her tongue. "I'll assemble a small group of soldiers to investigate Darkwater Crossing closer. I want you, in the meantime, to investigate Shor's Stone."

"I... honestly, Your Majesty, I don't think I should be-" she began.

"Are you refusing the High King's request?" Galmar growled. Ulfric said nothing, but the look on his face suggested he was thinking the same thing that Galmar had vocalized.

"I- well, no, but my employer-" she started.

"I'm sure your employer - Elsath, was it? I'm sure he'll understand that I wish to address a problem quickly and, in so doing, make business easier for both him and Nurelion to conduct," Ulfric replied coolly.

"...Why Shor's Stone?" she asked, resigning herself to her quite reluctant and hopefully temporary role of 'servant to the High King'.

"I received a report from Riften a few days ago that shipments from Shor's Stone to Riften have stopped completely. Does the situation sound familiar?" It did, and she somehow knew exactly what to expect, but...

"Why send me, though?"

"You won't draw as much attention investigating Shor's Stone alone. If it's occupied, get to Riften and send word to me; if not, see what you can find. If there's anything you can carry back, I expect you to do so."

She could not help but feel as though she was expendable in Ulfric's eyes, whereas his soldiers were not. She was liking this less and less, but was in no position to refuse his request. She knew it had been the right thing to do, reporting what she'd discovered at Darkwater Crossing... but even so, there was a part of her that regretted it altogether.

* * *

**_A.N._**_ \- And now Neria's caught up in this bandit crisis. As was planned from day one, of course. All I'll say at this point is that Neria will actually have a very big part to play in all of this._

_Neria's only real saving grace in the Palace of the Kings was how she helped defend Helgen from bandits, and comes well recommended by a Stormcloak who fought alongside her in Helgen. The situation sounds... almost familiar... but I can't place exactly where-_

_Oh, right, the vanilla start to Skyrim. Some marked differences, of course, but as I wrote this chapter, I realized that it had that whole 'visit the Jarl, mention Helgen, get sent to do something for him' aspect to it. Bandits and dragons are not the same, though, and I've decided it's alright to let this subtle 'deja vu' slip because that's about as 'deja vu' as I intend to let it get._

_I realize it's not Monday yet, but a recent issue with this computer has made me decide it's best to start saving my chapters to the site's Doc Manager shortly after they're finished; that way, if my computer does decide to die on me, I won't lose all the progress I had. Of course, that comes with the downside of 'I'll only ever have so many chapters done in such a case, and won't reliably be able to write more', but better to hit that roadblock when I come to it than to derail entirely because all of my progress was lost to a 5-year-old computer's age showing. So why am I posting the new chapter a couple days early? Because seeing it sit in the Doc Manager, ready to publish but not doing it yet just... I dunno, frustrates me? To each their own; I'll update next Monday (not this Monday coming up after the weekend)._

_-Spiritslayer_


	10. Making Plans

Ulfric Stormcloak's reaction to Runael's assumption that the Stormcloaks had been compromised was not quite what she'd been expecting.

It was worse.

"Every last man and woman in my army," he was roaring, "is loyal! To stand there and tell me that one of them has likely turned traitor for seemingly absolutely no gain whatsoever is ludicrous!"

Runael had felt the power of the Voice before in previous arguments, always washing over her figure and making her tremble. This, however... while it was no proper Shout, she still felt his voice shake her to her very core, embed no small amount of fear in her.

She dearly wished she was alone; if she were, she could probably diffuse the situation before it escalated any further than shouting at her.

Unfortunately for Runael's nerves, which were already frayed by his outrage, Elsera and Adalla were both quite vocal in defending her - which, in turn, only served to incense the High King of Skyrim even further. He had already threatened to have them thrown in prison indefinitely for speaking against him.

"I am simply telling you what I suspect," Runael began, as calmly as her unnerved state could manage. "I'm not saying it's true, only that-"

"You fought alongside them!" he snapped angrily. "And now you would dare suspect them of-"

"I take no particular joy in it, but what other explanation could there possibly be?!" she retorted. "Think, Ulfric! Who else knew of this before I departed? Who else could possibly have spread the word to someone else?"

His eyes snapped instantly to Elsera, Adalla and Mia. Runael fully understood why.

"No," she growled. "Elsera has been with me ever since I returned to the College, and I didn't inform Mia or Adalla about these developments until after we met in person once more."

"You asked me who else knew of it," he snapped. "There is my answer, elf."

She bristled at the tone he used when saying the word 'elf'. She knew full well his disdain of elves, and that exceptions to this disdain were exceedingly rare. For him to take such a tone with her... her, who had advised him, fought alongside him, and been quite a boon over the past several years... She made a mental note that no matter how much respect she may garner from the High King, she would likely never have all of it. In his eyes, she was still one of the mer.

He noticed she bristled at the tonr, and his expression softened ever-so-slightly. For a moment, she thought his anger passed, and that he'd now be receptive to more sensible considerations of all the facts, as well as any other speculation.

Of course, she was reminded once again that she was not alone.

"How _dare_ you take that tone with her," Elsera growled, hands balling into fists. "She has done much, sacrificed _everything_ in her past so as to be of help to you, and taking that tone with her is your way of thanking her? You-"

"You, little elf," he sneered, his temper flaring notably but not affecting his voice much anymore, "ought to watch your tongue. You do not share the same leniency I give your precious little Arch-Mage, and you would do well to remember that."

Elsera opened her mouth to shoot a reply back, but closed it when a hand clapped her shoulder firmly. Another hand clapped upon Adalla's shoulder, who was similarly preparing to retort in the Dunmer's defense.

"Oy," Mia said softly. "That's enough outta ya both, aye? At this rate, yer only gonna get yerselves tossed in them cramped little cells. Do everyone a favor and step outside for a bit, get some fresh air."

"Mia-" Adalla began, but the Altmer fell silent at the stern look from her Akaviri partner.

"Just go," came the reply, just as stern as her expression. Adalla needed no further prompting, and she guided Elsera outside, casting withering glances over her shoulder at Ulfric.

"Thank you, Mia," Runael murmured once both elves were outside.

"Mm." Mia crossed her arms and turned her attention to Ulfric. "I got a question, Yer Majesty, if ya don't mind me bein' so bold as t'ask."

He quirked a brow, as did Runael; Mia had never really been one to ask questions of anyone in an authoritative position - especially not the High King of Skyrim. Nonetheless, he wordlessly gestured her to continue.

"What all have yer scouts reported on them bandits and their movements? Have we got anythin' t'work with, like where they coulda gone from Rorikstead?"

"This is the first I've heard of the bandits abandoning Rorikstead," he said with a weary sigh. He sat down upon his throne and leaned back. "If my scouts have any such information, it hasn't reached me yet."

"Fair enough," she responded.

"You're getting at something," Runael murmured.

"It may be a bit of a stretch," the Akaviri woman began, "but what if bandits got bold and ambushed one'a yer scouts, found information about this-"

"I told none outside of Runael and Galmar," he interrupted, "so it's impossible that they were carrying correspondence regarding the plan to retake Rorikstead. Unless she sent couriers abroad that could have been intercepted, I find it difficult to believe. You are grasping at straws."

"There's only one other possible explanation, 'en." With that, Mia turned to depart, and got as far as the door before she turned her head to speak once more. "Some higher power warned 'em and they got the slip." With that, she was gone.

Both Ulfric and Runael scoffed simultaneously at the concept.

"A god, sympathizing with bandits?" Ulfric grumbled.

"Perhaps, in such a case, it's more so the fact that there's a greater plan, and this bandit leader's part of it." Runael didn't like the thought of possible divine intervention keeping this bandit leader from justice. "If it's not a Stormcloak traitor, there's very little else that explains it."

The High King was silent for quite some time. Runael recognized the expression on his face, though; emotions conflicting beneath the surface.

"How likely do you think it is that one of my soldiers has allied with the bandits?" he finally asked, voice low so as not to be overheard by anyone else nearby.

"Honestly? Very likely. I don't like the thought of it any more than you, Ulfric, but..." She watched him pinch the bridge of his nose, watched his brow furrow in thought.

"Then here's what shall be done..." he began slowly, lowering his hand and affixing Runael with a stern look.

* * *

Neria had always prided herself on being a bit sharper-eyed than most men and, in some cases, mer. It had allowed her to spot traps and other potentially fatal situations in more than one abandoned fort or cavern, and had constantly served her well when it came to identifying other out-of-place things.

She had chosen to send a letter to Ulfric from Riften - not because Shor's Stone was occupied, but because she saw no point in letting his Stormcloaks pick up the trail she'd found, not when she knew what she was looking for.

It had been difficult to see the bloodstains spattering the ground to the south of the town and leading west-southwest, into the hills, but Neria had spotted them. She'd included the bloodstains in her report, as well as a description of the ghost town that Shor's Stone had become. Just like Darkwater Crossing, it appeared as if a fight had broken out; there were clear marks where a blade or other heavy weapons had been slammed into the ground or into the sides of buildings, and there were scorch marks here and there, as well. The mine was abandoned, save for a couple spiders that appeared to have moved in recently, if the very sparse cobwebs were any indicator.

All of the doors to each home were unlocked, which either meant that the owners had been taken directly from their homes while they were inside, or the locks were picked and the trespasser simply didn't lock the door when they'd left. Poking around inside a couple of the homes revealed that the former was likely; there were signs of a scuffle in one of the homes.

Still, unlike Darkwater Crossing, Shor's Stone had the blood trail to work with. Neria was not going to let this opportunity go to waste; she suspected Ulfric would want her to follow it anyway because if it led to danger, better her than his precious soldiers.

It had led to a couple caves, far to the west of the Rift. Even then, the blood trail didn't stop; she surmised that it was likely they had ducked inside the caves, possibly for an evening or to get out of inclement weather.

One such storm forced Neria to take refuge in a cavern for the evening. By the next morning, the storm had passed, and when she had stepped outside to find the blood trail again, she was disheartened to find that the storm had washed it away. The last she'd checked her map, she was well south of the town of Ivarstead, near a winding mountain pass. She had a rough idea as to where she was... but she wasn't positive. Rather than lose her head over it, Neria had chosen instead to continue westward; she had a suspicion that wherever this injured individual was going, it was a bit further west.

She felt hope spring anew when she caught sight of a faint blood trail on snow through the pass, almost buried beneath what seemed to be a relatively fresh layer of powder. She had no way of knowing whether or not it was the same trail she'd been following from Shor's Stone, but she decided there was no true harm in following it.

This trail had led her into the much milder Falkreath Hold and disappeared inside of a cave; unlike the past couple of caves, however, the trail did not duck out again. This cavern had been the end destination, then. She had delved a bit deeper in, but found little to no sign that there was anyone actually in it.

At least, not until she'd chanced upon what appeared to be recently dug tunnels. She carefully followed one such path, Dawnbreaker in hand, to see where it led.

The Dwemer ruin that greeted her left her stunned and speechless. She'd never seen a Dwemer ruin before, only heard of them or read about them in a couple books; 'Ruins of Kemel-Ze' came to mind almost instantly. As much as she longed to explore it a bit further, she knew she was ill-prepared for an extended search; if the book had been any sort of indicator, she would likely find danger within, and she wanted to be ready for it. With that in mind, she had returned to Falkreath to begin preparing for her journey into the ruin.

"I've been looking for you." The voice of the young male Nord made her jump a bit as she stepped out of the Dead Man's Drink.

"Got something you're supposed to deliver?" she mused. The Nord chuckled quietly and wordlessly extended a letter to her.

"Your hands only," he remarked before walking away, his job clearly finished. She watched him go for a time, then broke the seal on the letter, unfolded it, and began to read it.

_Neria,_

_The next time I give you an order, I expect you to carry it out exactly as I requested, and not take matters into your own hands._

_I want you to make your way back to Windhelm the moment you receive this letter. Whatever you may have found will be discussed once you arrive at the Palace of the Kings._

_-Ulfric Stormcloak_

_High King of Skyrim_

Her lips were pursed as she folded the letter. Just like that, he had ruined her relatively good mood. She'd been excited to explore the Dwemer ruin deep within the cavern, and now he wanted her to travel all the way back to Windhelm. She decided to comply; there was no benefit to be had from defying the High King. She wasn't even sure what she would be looking for in the Dwemer ruin; she feared she'd lose focus of her initial investigation while examining the wonders of the dwarves. With her new directive given, she instead began preparing herself for a trip to Whiterun; from there, she would take a carriage back to Windhelm. All the walking she'd done over the past several days had not been kind to her feet.

* * *

"How in Oblivion did you find me?" Larian asked, eye twitching as she stared at Derrick. His only response had been to point skyward - a silent answer she'd witnessed before. It brought a scowl to her face. "Of course," she muttered bitterly.

"We breached the Dwemer ruin," the Imperial said. "I found the magical emanations Vile sought. And what of you, Larian? Had any luck here in Labyrinthian?" He smirked a little as she gave him an exasperated look that all but said 'are you serious?'.

Of course she hadn't had any luck. She'd been unable to get inside Labyrinthian when she'd arrived, and could not find any means of breaching the massive doors that barred her way. They had been sealed somehow, and nothing she tried could get her through. The tumult of her efforts had drawn the ire of the resident frost trolls, however, and she'd been forced to kill all of them. It hadn't been difficult - she'd had prior experience fighting and killing their ilk, and knew that her best means of defeating them was to step in so her attack would connect, then backpedal once her attack had struck. It was tiring, but the best way she had, and more to the point, it worked.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Derrick," she snapped. "You'll find yourself in quite a similar situation as I, once you fail to breach Labyrinthian yourself." She gestured in the direction of the massive doors, from inside the small barrow with a well-worn plinth inside of it. The plinth had been of interest to her - eight bust-like shapes, with a dragon's skull carving in the center of it - but not enough interest for her to investigate it any further. "Seeing whereas you are constantly in contact with him, you'll probably have it worse than me."

"I may actually be better off because of that," he replied smoothly. "I can ask him how to get inside, and if he knows, he'll tell me." She cursed inwardly at the truth behind his words. "I'll admit, though, I'm surprised you're still here. I thought you'd have given up and run off to stay in one of the other bandit hideouts."

"You don't know me," she growled. "So don't even pretend like you know what I'd do in a given situation." She stepped out of the ancient barrow and into the biting winds of Skyrim once more, and the crunching of snow behind her told her Derrick was following her. "Nadine?"

"She was one of the captured," he replied.

"I don't follow." She glanced at him over her shoulder.

"Falmer, deep in the ruin. Most of the miners were killed, but a few were captured. Nadine was one of the captured."

"And it didn't occur to you to save her?"

"If I'd tried, word of our success in Falkreath would never have reached you," he said simply. She hated him for abandoning her friend, but knew his words were true. "Which do you value more: a friend, or information to help you advance a task you've been given?"

The way he worded the question made it obvious as to his stance. She longed to reply 'a friend', but held her tongue altogether. Now was not the time to get into an argument over something so trivial, at least in the grand scheme of things. She could only hope Nadine could rescue herself, since Larian was unable to come to her rescue instead.

"According to Vile," he continued, "the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold was the last person to visit Labyrinthian."

"I heard about that when it was news," she grumbled. "You tell me nothing I don't already know."

"Then you aren't connecting the dots. She was the last person to visit the ruin. The ruin has been sealed since then." When she turned her head to face him, she noticed he was staring pointedly at her, as if waiting for her to arrive at the same conclusion he had.

"She's the one that sealed it," she said flatly. Of course she'd connected the dots the second he mentioned the Arch-Mage. "That doesn't change the fact that we have no idea where to find her."

"True, but perhaps the key to unsealing Labyrinthian lies within the College itself."

She knew instantly what he was getting at, and she chuckled bitterly at the mere thought.

"You don't approve?" he quipped.

"Darkwater Crossing and Shor's Stone, Derrick, were easy enough for us," she said, still chuckling lightly. "But assaulting the College of Winterhold, trying to find something that may or may not actually be there? You have a death wish, and that wish seems to be 'death by wizard'."

"At what point did I say anything about assaulting the College?" he responded with that condescending smirk. "It might be easiest if, say, one of us could infiltrate it..."

She just stared at him. Much as she hated to admit it, he had a point there. That left the matter of actually succeeding in that.

"You go to the College and infiltrate it," she finally said. "You're the one with an interest in magic. I, on the other hand, will go to Vile's shrine and have some words with him."

He quirked a brow at this, but nodded all the same. He turned to leave.

"And Derrick?" Her arms were crossed as he turned his head to face her once more. "No matter what may happen, I still hate you. You know this, right?" The line brought that insufferable smirk back to his lips.

"Oh, I know. And the feeling is mutual, Larian Ravell." With the sharp reply delivered, he chose that moment to leave. Larian, in turn, turned to the direction of Morthal. It was the closest location to her where she could find food and other supplies, and she'd need them for the trip.

* * *

**_A.N._**_ \- Alright, so first of all, I know this chapter is a couple days late. It's late because I wasn't sure if it was good as it was on Monday, so I re-read it with the intent of making some adjustments._

_Not much changed, really. The three key points were present - Ulfric's outrage, Neria's discovery of the Dwemer ruin that Derrick unearthed, and the 'brick wall' Larian hit - and there wasn't much else I could change without massively affecting the chapter's content. I still kind of feel like there's definite room for improvement, but... at this rate, the only way it'll 'improve' is with a massive rewrite._

_Ulfric and Runael are friends, but even friends argue. I feel like this particular argument drove that point home and serves as a reminder (mostly to me) that Ulfric may like, respect and trust Runael, but they aren't 'best buddies forever'. That said, I do feel like I could have written him angrier... but the only way I saw that working was if he then became violent with his movements - drawing an axe, threatening to hit someone with a fist... that sort of thing. I didn't want a flat-out fight to break out, so I had to rein it in._

_Neria's the first to discover the ruin, after Derrick and the unfortunate miners. She has no idea just how important/dangerous it really is, though... she will soon. (Spoilers? Nah; that's not saying too much.) She may come across as more of an investigator than a knight, but some of her past employment has... well, I should really cover that in a future chapter. ^^;_

_Shortly after I published Larian's fight near Labyrinthian, it dawned on me; she has no means of identifying magical energies herself, and yet she's there alone? I had a game plan for that, but this route was a little more entertaining - if not right now, then because of what's to come because of this route. Besides, the interactions between Larian and Derrick are still so fun to write._

_I'm hoping to be on schedule next week with the next chapter. It's not done yet, unfortunately, but I've got time a-plenty for the rest of this week._

_-Spiritslayer_


	11. Uncertainty

Neria's meeting with Ulfric had gone more or less as she'd expected. He seemed quite dismissive of her thoughts and concerns, and after her initial meeting with him, she'd been better prepared to face him. When she'd told him more about Shor's Stone and the Dwemer ruin in the cave, he dismissed the notion altogether, telling her instead that she was to remain in Windhelm until further notice. This more than aggravated her, but she'd reined in her emotions and begrudgingly told him she wouldn't head for the Dwemer ruin.

This, of course, left her available to explore the tomb of Curalmil while she waited to hear from Ulfric. Her foray was quite eventful; eradicating the draugr contained within had been quite simple, owing to Dawnbreaker's powerful enchantment. Locating the Phial itself was not particularly simple; it had taken her a while to realize that the horrid-smelling liquid was to be poured into the ceremonial bowl, but once she'd realized it, she breathed a sigh of relief - having worried she'd need to drink the foul-smelling mixture. Once she found the Phial, though, she wondered how it could have possibly cracked; an attempt to store some water within it resulted in nothing happening, save for the water dribbling out of the crack and confirming her fear that it was too damaged to be of use.

Nonetheless, she'd returned it to Nurelion and notified him that it had been damaged when she found it. Nurelion was ultimately grateful to have it, but not enough to express it properly; Quintis, on the other hand, was far more grateful.

The entire ordeal had left Neria feeling as though she needed a drink, and so she set off for Candlehearth Hall.

That had been the plan, anyway - until one of the Stormcloaks had stopped her and told her she was to report to the Palace of the Kings. He had been rather insistent, too, telling her that no, she could not get a drink before she met with the High King.

Thus, sober and irritated, Neria entered the Palace of the Kings. She thought she'd have to exercise extreme calm because of her present mood. The spectacle that greeted her took her mind off of it.

"Tell me why, again, you have called _all_ of our scouts back to Windhelm?" It was the gruff growling voice she'd heard once before...

"To prove a point, Galmar," came Ulfric's relatively calm - if annoyed - reply.

"At the recommendation of an elf?" the other Nord growled.

"I _am_ standing right here, Galmar." The voice was that of a female elf, though she wasn't in view. As Neria slowly approached, however, a high elf stepped into the great hall from the war room; she had long pale blonde hair hanging loosely about her shoulders, emerald-colored eyes... and she wore a robe that Neria had never seen before. "You could at least use my name. And he's not doing this because I suggested it - seeing whereas I never did."

"You put it in his mind that our soldiers have been compromised," Galmar snapped, turning to the high elf. "The best way for any leader to find out for certain is-"

Neria, recognizing the makings of a very heated argument and possible scuffle, chose that moment to clear her throat. Galmar, Ulfric and the high elf all turned their heads to face her; Galmar's mouth was wide open, having formerly been in the middle of a retort.

"When I tell you to remain in Windhelm, that does not mean 'go traipsing around Skyrim'," Ulfric growled. His expression had initially been one of confusion, but once recognition had set in, it became one of disapproval, accompanied by a scowl.

"I was not 'traipsing around Skyrim', I was retrieving something for Nurelion - as I'd agreed to do before you sent me off to Shor's Stone," Neria replied coolly. "The ruin I had to venture through was, at most, a day's walk from here." Galmar cleared his throat and crossed his arms, prompting Neria to sigh. "Your Majesty."

"The fact that you left Windhelm in the first place is what troubles me most," Ulfric began.

"So you're the one who found the Dwemer ruin?" the high elf commented, a brow raised. Ulfric and Galmar both looked annoyed that the elf had changed the subject, but Neria was grateful and nodded. "And you didn't investigate-"

"I was poorly supplied for such," she replied with a shake of her head. "I made plans to investigate after I stocked up in Falkreath, but then I got _his_ message." She gestured to Ulfric. "I've been in the area since then, so no, I haven't investigated it yet."

"Fair enough." The elf looked at Ulfric, and it was at that moment that the oddity struck Neria. Why was there an elf anywhere in the Palace of the Kings, and why did the High King not seem to mind her presence?

"Who are you?" Neria asked, her curiosity no longer containable.

"Runael, this is Neria, the Breton knight who helped save Helgen and investigated Shor's Stone," Ulfric said with a heavy sigh, as if resigning himself to the fact that he'd never get to finish chastising Neria. "Neria, this is Runael, the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold."

Learning the identity of the high elf made Neria's eyes widen, and her jaw dropped.

"Oh, please," Runael said, noting Neria's expression with an amused look of her own. "I'm hardly that famous-"

"Elsath mentioned you!" Neria exclaimed. "He said that if I needed anything, then-" Mentioning her employer made Runael's eyes widen in recognition and realization, and for a moment, they simply stood there, staring at each other.

"And... how is he?" Runael asked tentatively.

"Last I knew, as of... three years ago, I believe it was," Neria began, "he was well. I haven't been in High Rock for quite some time now... Though he did wonder why you don't keep in touch..."

"Oh..." Runael gestured about with a light sigh and a smile. "You know. Life in Skyrim, magical anomalies to look into, bandits plaguing the land, this so-called 'Queen of Skyrim' rumor..."

"'Queen of'...?" Neria looked confused, and turned her attention back to Ulfric for an explanation. "But... you're not married, Your Majesty... are you?"

"No, I'm not," he responded with a nod. "Which makes this even more troublesome. Runael's... associates found and took prisoner a bandit who was separated from his comrades; he had a note alluding to a 'true Queen of Skyrim', and it proclaimed that I was just a pretender, holding the throne for her." He shrugged it off. "A lot of nonsense. I've not had any opposition for the throne since I claimed it."

"Ulfric mentioned," Runael began slowly, "that you found traces of conflict at Darkwater Crossing and Shor's Stone. Both Ulfric and Galmar suspect bandits had a hand in that, though the former more so than the latter. What impression did you get, looking at it for yourself?"

"It was... well, to call it 'planned out' is an overstatement," Neria began slowly. "At Darkwater Crossing in particular, it looks like someone just went in swinging; it was a little more restrained at Shor's Stone, meaning maybe they had an idea as to how to approach the matter, but they were sloppy with the end result. There was a blood trail to follow at Shor's Stone, but not at Darkwater Crossing."

"Bandits took Rorikstead almost a month ago," Runael commented. "Judging from your lack of reaction, you knew about this."

"Galmar mentioned it," Neria said with a nod. "Before I set off for Shor's Stone. They also tried to take Helgen, but I was there to help repel them." She paused for a moment. "You don't think that bandits...?"

"They've become bold in recent months," Ulfric intoned. "Attacking a town or village was not unheard of in the past... but seizing the town? Taking every last resident away, or hiding the bodies of those they killed? There's someone leading the bandits of Skyrim, or so the three of us believe."

"...So why take Rorikstead?" Neria murmured, crossing her arms and tapping her chin with one gauntlet-clad hand.

"Supplies," Runael responded. "They had no other real interest in Rorikstead; if they've started kidnapping people, then something changed after they left Rorikstead, but before they visited Darkwater Crossing. We tried to catch the leader off-guard at Rorikstead, but all of the bandits were gone before we got there... as if someone had given them warning."

"And..." Neria was slowly starting to piece together what the earlier argument had been about.

"Runael thinks it's one of our soldiers that tipped the bandits off," Galmar growled, casting a glare at the high elf. "Ulfric has called our scouts back so there are no soldiers whatsoever on the roads between cities that could possibly be captured or relay messages to the bandits."

"If she's right, then we'll figure it out soon," Ulfric responded; his expression was dark, and he was glowering at Runael. Neria surmised that this had been an extremely touchy topic beforehand. "If not, she'll be made to answer for effectively cutting me off from the rest of Skyrim for even a brief while."

"And in the meantime," Runael began, "I'm going to look into some things. According to your report, that Dwemer ruin has some importance to the bandits, if they took miners captive and forced them to dig out the entrance to it. That, in turn, brings me to this. You and I, Neria, will investigate the Dwemer ruin together and see what we can find that caught the bandits' attention."

"Runael," Ulfric began, but he just stared at her as she lifted a hand to cut him off.

"You were going to send her to the ruin anyway," the high elf said simply. "I see no reason not to join her; it's almost like you're traveling with her, in this way, except you're far too important to Skyrim to go... how did you put it earlier...? 'Traipsing around Skyrim'?"

Neria made a mental note that she quite liked Runael - if not for her overall kind air, then for the fact that she could almost swear the high elf had just subtly mocked Ulfric Stormcloak, the High King of Skyrim. The subtlety was not lost on Ulfric, who scoffed at the words; to Neria's surprise, however, he gave a slow nod, presumably approving Runael's logic.

"Mia, Adalla and Elsera will be joining us, of course," Runael added. "Five sets of eyes are better than two, after all, and the experience Adalla and Mia in particular have with Dwemer ruins will be invaluable."

"Haven't you ventured into one?" Galmar grumbled.

"That was just once," the high elf remarked. "As opposed to the several those two have visited together; Mia has seen several more on her own."

"Whatever you find," Ulfric began, "I want you report it to me. Bring it with you if you can carry it, or describe it as best you can if not. I refuse to believe that the bandits just dug out a Dwemer ruin for the sake of casual exploration. There's something of importance to them in that ruin, and I want to-"

The doors to the Palace burst open without warning, interrupting him. A ragged soldier ran inside; his blue sash looked as if it had been slashed at several times at random angles, and there were bloodstains upon the fabric. Neria instantly had a bad feeling about this, and could only hope Windhelm hadn't come under attack.

"Sire!" the soldier gasped out. "Bandits... Winterhold... couldn't..." Neria heard Runael inhale sharply, and a quick glance showed equal parts anger and horror upon the high elf's face.

"Breathe, soldier," Ulfric said, standing slowly and gesturing him closer. Once the soldier was nearer and his breathing had evened out, Ulfric nodded. "Now, what's this about bandits and Winterhold?"

"Bandits have attacked Winterhold," the soldier said grimly. "Unsurprisingly, their target was the College."

In an instant, Runael closed the distance with the soldier and grabbed his shoulders. Neria recalled she was the Arch-Mage, so this news was of dire importance to her.

"Runael!" Ulfric warned. The high elf didn't so much as flinch at his words.

"What were they after?" she growled in a tone that bespoke her fury.

"W-we don't know," the soldier responded meekly. "Th-they made for the Arch-Mage's Quarters, though, after they broke down the gate that bars entry to..."

"That's no mean feat," Runael murmured, concern now mixing with the other emotions upon her face. "That gate was enchanted to..." She lowered her hands from his shoulders. "What happened to the staff and students? What became of these idiot bandits?"

"Some of the bandits died in the fight," he responded, "but most escaped. One of them, wearing a black robe... I heard him shout 'we have the key', but... I-I saw nothing like a key."

"I'm sure he stuffed it in a pocket or something," Galmar remarked dryly.

"H-he was carrying something, though... he waved it above his head. I-it looked... sort of like a horseshoe, but far bigger, more circular, and-"

Runael inhaled sharply again, and took a step back. All eyes were on her, and Neria had her first glimpse of a high elf whose face had drained of all color.

"Ru-" Ulfric began.

"Labyrinthian," she whispered. "He took the torc... to Labyrinthian...? But why...?"

* * *

"What are you neglecting to tell me?" Larian stood, arms crossed, at the base of the shine to Clavicus Vile. The Daedric Prince remained silent, however. She was not pleased that he was most likely ignoring her. "Fine, stay silent. It's not like you really need me to help find magical energy anyway, so maybe I'll just cut ties with you, find some random guy, bend over, and let him-"

"_Ugh... too much information, mortal,_" came an annoyed grumble, in the unmistakably haughty and arrogant voice of Clavicus Vile.

"It got you to talk, so not quite." She stepped closer to the shrine. "My question remains."

"_I've told you all you need to know._"

"Horseshit," she snapped. "Some bastard tried to kill me on the way to Labyrinthian, and he summoned some massive creature I've never seen before to help him. He told me that he had to kill me because I was helping you."

"_So vulgar,_" Vile mused.

"I am not amused, Clavicus Vile," Larian retorted. "Either you tell me what you need my help with, or I cut ties with you, kill Derrick, and leave you without help from anyone."

"_And your heart's desire?_" he inquired.

"I've lived this long without it," she growled. "I'll manage somehow for the rest of my life." When he didn't reply right away, she knew he was weighing the pros and cons to her abandoning him.

"_Alright, fine. Ask away._" He sounded as if he was resigning himself to the matter; apparently, he failed to find any pros in the situation she'd outlined.

"Why do you need magical energy in a Dwemer ruin and Labyrinthian?" She was not going to let this opportunity pass her by; she would get all the answers she needed.

"_Because once I have it, I can start to have some fun. It's awfully boring on my end, I'll have you know; typically, I'd send a mortal out to fetch something and bring it to me, but I think a lot of energy will be more fun than any weapon or anything else of the like._"

"What sort of 'fun'?"

"_That's telling, mortal. I'll keep that a secret, because the less anyone else knows about it, the greater a surprise it is for everyone else._" She saw no sense pressing the matter; odds were it had to do with his realm, and thus involved several things she wouldn't understand.

"Who is Derrick, and why did you even bother sending him to help me?"

"_Derrick is my servant - I dare say my champion, in fact. I sent him to you because he's the best of my servants, and will assuredly help you finish your task a lot faster than you would on your own._"

"You didn't send him right away?" She was quite curious now, and more than a little irked that it seemed as if it had been an afterthought on Vile's part.

"_It was entertaining to watch you butcher the weaklings that called themselves leaders of the bandit groups,_" he chuckled in response. "_The real work didn't begin until after they were dead._"

"...Fair enough." She stared at the head of the statue. "Why would anyone try killing me, simply because I'm working for you?"

"_I have enemies, and they'd love to stand in my way. Surely you know what that's like? Is that truly such a foreign concept to one such as you, miss 'Bandit Queen'?_"

"You're deflecting the question," she hissed.

"_I gave you the honest answer, mortal._"

"Fine. _Who_ is trying to interfere?"

"_Could be anyone. Ulfric Stormcloak, some random Khajiit... there was also that one time Sheogorath..._" He was silent for a time. "_You mentioned your assailant summoned something. What was it?_"

"Fuck if I know," she sighed. "It looked... I guess fish-like. It was huge, had arms and legs, and immense physical strength... it never hit me, but judging from the way the ground shook whenever it slammed the ground..."

"_...Ah._" His tone bespoke recognition.

"You know exactly who's trying to-" she began. She stopped, however, when a large book with a black cover appeared out of nowhere and hung in the air before her.

"_Give that to my champion the next time you see him,_" Vile instructed, cutting her off the question forming at her lips. "_Tell him to destroy everything he sees. He'll know exactly why I'm asking him to do this._" The book fell to the ground with a firm 'thump'; Larian noted that despite the fall, the book did not open. She picked it up and cautiously tried to pry it open. "_Don't bother, mortal. It's sealed shut, but Derrick should be able to open it. He has his duty, you have yours._"

"What is this book?" she asked, giving up on trying to make the book's cover budge.

"_A portal to Apocrypha, Hermaeus Mora's realm,_" Vile remarked dryly.

"Very funny," Larian grumbled, tucking the book under her arm.

"_I thought so. So, unless there are any more questions... I believe you have a ruin to get to, and a book to deliver. Derrick has obtained what you'll need to get inside, and awaits you at some dragon's lair between Winterhold and... what is the name of that hold where Dawnstar's located...?_"

"The Pale," she sighed. "So Mount Anthor is where he's waiting for me. Why?"

"_News has spread that the College was... targeted. He's decided to lay low for the time being._" Larian didn't like how he said 'targeted', but didn't press the matter. "_Do be careful on your way to Derrick, mortal. Competent servants are so hard to find these days._"

"Your flattery needs work," she muttered.

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Oh, Vile. Sometimes, blunt honesty is the best way to make someone doubt an item's actual purpose._

_I hope no one's grown particularly attached to Runael. She dies next chapter. (I kid, I kid.)_

_Anyway, introducing Runael and Neria to one another was necessary. Neria, after all, is all caught up in this bandit business; it only makes sense to join forces with the rest who are helping._

_Is Larian truly so... 'loose' that she'd let a guy just have her way with her? Sure... if you count seducing guys (and in some cases, women), luring them somewhere dark and secluded... then robbing them blind, knocking them out, and getting the hell out of town. In other words, no, she's not. She actually doesn't like women who are so loose._

_I was on quite a roll this past weekend. How much of a roll? Well, I had the next 7 chapters written on Saturday night (including this one). Now? I've finished writing Eventide. That's right, I'm done writing it. Final chapter of the story is done (and is Chapter 23). There are just 12 more chapters to follow this one. I personally like the way it turned out, but then again, it's not my opinion that matters the most._

_I think I've managed to burn myself out. Luckily, the only 'writing' I'll be doing for a little while is Author Notes. There's also something else I've started to write, but I'm going to take that nice and slow for the time being._

_-Spiritslayer_


	12. The Price Of Knowledge

_Mia could have sworn she was asleep. She wasn't sure, then, why she was surrounded by darkness and felt very much so awake. Out of the darkness before her, a mass of tentacles and a large eye appeared._

_"I do not like being ignored, Dragonborn," came a familiar and disembodied voice. He sounded calm, but she'd heard enough of him to know when he was furious, disappointed, and otherwise critical. This was one of those times._

_"Piss off," she snapped back._

_"You forget your place." Several of the tentacles lashed out and wound around her arms, legs and neck; she tried to protest, but the tentacle around her neck squeezed too tightly for her to speak, and breathing was much harder. Once she realized she could feel the pain, she knew instantly she was not dreaming. She was very much so awake. "I am Hermaeus Mora, Dragonborn, and you... you are my servant. I have found your ignorance over the past eight years cute enough to tolerate, but now... now, you will obey, or I shall reunite you with Miraak."_

_She strained against the tentacles binding her arms, trying to reach for the one gripping her neck; his hold was firm, however, and she couldn't move. She shot a fierce glare at the eye before her, her only means of being defiant._

_"Now..." The tentacle around her neck loosened just a little. "I require your presence in Apocrypha."_

_"For what?" she growled._

_"You will repel an intruder, Dragonborn. He has not yet arrived, but he will before long. He comes to profane my realm, defile the knowledge I possess."_

_"So just gather it again," she scowled._

_"I suppose that's a solution," he mused. "There is so little to actually do here, it may be worthwhile to murder entire towns for their secrets again... or, better yet, send you to do it for me."_

_She did not like that idea, and muttered her mostly silent protest under her breath._

_"Alternately, you could come to Apocrypha, intercept this intruder, pierce his throat, then present his corpse to me, that I may rip out his heart. No matter which you choose, I benefit. Ultimately, you will choose the path you prefer."_

_"And if I tell ya t'piss off and never-" She didn't get to finish her retort; the tentacle squeezed her throat again, and she struggled for air._

_"Then I shall reunite the First Dragonborn and the Last Dragonborn, right now, and find someone else who may yet appreciate everything I can offer them." The tentacles around her limbs let go, but the tentacle around her neck kept her suspended in mid-air. "Make your choice, Dragonborn. How much do you value your life?"_

* * *

"...ia! Wake up!"

The words caused the Akaviri woman's eyes to snap open, and she bolted upright, breathing heavily. Her hand slid to her throat, and she let out a soft sigh of relief. Had it been a dream after all?

"Finally," she heard the familiar voice of Adalla sigh out. "You were thrashing in your sleep... what happened, Mia?"

"...He wants me t'head t'Apocrypha," she murmured quietly, glancing about. She wanted to make sure Elsera, Runael or the Breton knight named Neria weren't within earshot; none of them knew she had a very strained 'relationship' with Hermaeus Mora. "He threatened t'kill me if I said 'no'."

"...And...?" Adalla replied just as quietly.

"...He had me neck, Adalla," Mia whispered. "When he strangled me, I... I felt it. This weren't nothin' like other times. He's serious this time, Adalla..."

"So you said 'yes'." The high elf's tone was flat.

"I had no choice!" Mia exclaimed as quietly as she could. "He just wants me t'take out an intruder what all threatens his realm. The alternative is that he kills me, then kills other people t'rebuild his library - or he keeps me alive and makes me do it for him!"

Adalla's expression was troubled, and she bit her lower lip. Mia recognized it; the high elf was conflicted on her decision.

"I gotta do this, Adalla," Mia said quietly. "The rest of ya just gotta catch up t'them bastards in Labyrinthian without me..." She slid her arms around Adalla and held her tight.

"...What am I supposed to say to the others? They have no idea, after all, and..."

"Just tell 'em somethin' came up what I can't ignore, and that I'll be back afore long, aye? It ain't a lie, so..." Mia was quite uncomfortable with the entire thing, but she was already fishing through her pack for the Black Book she carried with her. She knew Adalla was watching her, and was determined to avoid the high elf's gaze, lest she falter and second-guess her decision.

"Just... come back to me safely, Mia, please," Adalla pleaded softly. "I have no idea what I'd do without you..."

"Aye." Mia pulled out the book and just stared at it for a time. "It were a good eight years, but he ain't content t'just..." She sighed wearily.

Adalla also looked at the book, then up at Mia once more. Mia could practically sense Adalla's desire to speak, but whatever words she wanted to say faltered, for nothing was said.

"I'm comin' back t'ya, Adalla," Mia said, looking up and locking her gaze with her partner's gaze. "I love ya too damn much t'just give up, and I ain't gonna make a habit of servin' this prick."

Adalla gave a weak smile, then leaned forward and kissed Mia's lips gently. Before the Akaviri woman could return it, though, the high elf broke the kiss. She gave a small nod, then stood up to leave. Mia felt, for a moment, as if this was a bad idea for a multitude of reasons.

"I love you too, Mia." The high elf looked over her shoulder at her. "Adima will stay here and keep watch over you while we're in the ruin."

"Aye." With the acknowledgement, Mia opened the Black Book, read the first few words of it, and held her breath as the familiar strings of characters wrapped around her, then turned into tentacles. A moment later, Mia's figure was transparent to all who looked upon her.

* * *

The Augur's warning had been at the front of Runael's mind, ever since that soldier had told her, Neria, Ulfric and Galmar about the attack on the College, and the theft of the torc that permitted entry into Labyrinthian. Her mind was constantly abuzz, distracting thoughts flitting this way and that; it affected her ability to fight off the spirits that had mysteriously taken up residence in Labyrinthian.

"I thought you visited-" Elsera had begun saying.

"I did," the Arch-Mage muttered bitterly. A spirit approached them rapidly, frost hanging about its palms; Runael responded to the silent challenge by throwing a pair of Fireballs into its spectral chest, destroying it almost immediately. "It's been several years, though, and I doubt the ones I destroyed during my last visit were the only victims Labyrinthian claimed over the years." She watched as a spectral arrow flew past her head, and she blinked in surprise. A quick search revealed no source to her, which left her a little panicked; she was not keen on the Augur's warning coming to pass.

She watched as Neria stepped in front of her, shield raised and her strangely-glowing sword at the ready. For a brief moment, Runael could almost swear the Breton's shield glowed with the same light as the blade; a split-second later, a pinging sound reached her ears. She watched a large bolt of lightning arc through the air, striking a point off in the distance. The sound of the defeated spirit greeted her ears next, and the Arch-Mage felt her spirits sink; even to the end, she hadn't been able to see the spirit properly.

"Something's bothering you," Elsera commented. "I'll concede that spirit wasn't the most obvious sight, but it's not like you to have no idea where it is altogether." Runael felt a hand rest upon her shoulder and give a small squeeze. "What is it that's troubling you?"

There were a multitude of possible answers Runael could give: Mia's unexplained absence, the fact that she was setting foot in this eerie and haunted place once more, her concern for her colleagues and the students at the College of Winterhold... everything that came to mind sounded far better than her worry that the Augur's warning would come to pass.

An exasperated sigh greeted her ears, and she blinked as she realized Neria and Adalla were proceeding cautiously - leaving her and Elsera in the back for the time being.

"Arch-Mage-" the Dunmer began.

"It's..." The Altmer looked over her shoulder at Elsera, then faced forward once more and followed Neria and Adalla, paying little mind to the hand that tried to hold her shoulder firmly, but ultimately slipped off of her. "You've never heard of the Midden, right?"

"The... the what now?" Elsera asked tentatively. That was all the answer Runael needed.

"Nothing I say, then, will make any sort of sense to you," Runael responded. "I don't have the time to tell you everything about it, so for now, just let it be. I'll explain later, once we're out of here and in a safe place." She heard the almost silent sigh from the Dunmer, followed by a very faint string of mumbled Dunmeri words; she could only guess what was being said.

The sounds of conflict snapped her attention back to Neria and Adalla; the Breton had blocked a weapon Runael hadn't seen in years with her glowing shield once more. She drew a sharp breath as the weapon came into clearer view, a result of Neria's disarming blow; while Elsera sent a bolt of fire flying past her and toward another spectral fiend, Runael approached the weapon that had landed on the ground without a sound.

It looked like an ancient Nordic sword, but there was no metal to speak of; the entire weapon was a transparent blue hue. She picked the weapon up and turned it over in her hands. She'd already examined it closely the first time she visited Labyrinthian, so she already knew much about the weapon... but she was most disturbed by its presence at all. She hadn't encountered the insidious 'ghost weapons', as she referred to them, until she was much closer to the lair of Morokei, the Dragon Priest she'd had an extended battle with for ownership of the Staff of Magnus. To see the weapons this much closer to the entrance of Labyrinthian... what had changed in the ruin over time?

"Runael?" It was the concerned voice of Adalla that jostled her out of her reverie, and she glanced up at the other Altmer. "What's wrong?"

"This weapon, we... we shouldn't be seeing it. Not yet. We're nowhere near close enough for this to be an acceptable sight..." Runael bit her lower lip, and offered no resistance as the Breton knight carefully took the ghost blade from her hands.

"As you said," Neria began, "it's been several years. Things can change in that time." She examined it closely, then tossed the weapon aside and drew her glowing blade once more.

"If Labyrinthian is filled with these weapons now, then it's a dangerous trek for us," Runael murmured. "There are three variations; one of the weapons saps your strength, another drains magicka, and the third... the third attacks your very life-force." She gestured to the ghost blade. "If memory serves, the swords strike life-force." She genuinely couldn't remember; she'd tried to put the haunting weapons from her mind over the years, and had been successful in that.

Knowing the dangers the weaponry presented better prepared them for the subsequent conflicts with the spirits. Armed with the knowledge, Neria was able to block, parry and otherwise repel most of the attacks that came their way, leaving the wielders of the spectral weapons wide open to counterattack from Adalla, Elsera and Runael. The Arch-Mage was aware that her Dunmeri apprentice was collecting one of each spectral weapon, and imagined it was for the sake of research back at the College. Thinking of the College again made her wonder if there was anything or anyone to return to at the ancient institution of magic.

Runael immediately knew something was off when she saw something she hadn't seen in her first trip through Labyrinthian: a small door was nestled in a wall to their right, and would have been unassuming if it didn't shimmer before her very eyes. She stepped toward the shimmering door slowly and reached out toward it, wondering if it was safe to touch. The other three realized she had fallen behind, and returned to her.

"What's...?" Adalla's question faltered when she realized the door shimmered.

"This wasn't here last time," Runael said quietly. "We may find answers beyond this door... as well as the bandits that came in." She steeled herself, then grasped the door's handle; to her surprise, nothing peculiar happened. Her fingers closed around solid metal, and it provided the same resistance as any other door when she tugged it open. She was the first to step into the corridor beyond the shimmering door, and thus was the first to see the faint blue glow dancing upon the low ceiling overhead. While she had been first into the corridor, Neria and Adalla both pushed past her, their shields up and ready to block anything that may come their way.

At first, it proved to be a whole lot of nothing; long winding corridors, small chambers with the odd sarcophagus here and there, burial urns and linen wraps. After fighting their way through Labyrinthian, all four of them found it highly disconcerting that there was no opposition beyond the shimmering door. When they reached a pair of large, wooden double doors, however, it was Neria who noted the vivid blue glow at the edges of the door's frame, as if the source of the glow was on the other side. They silently confirmed they were prepared to continue forth, then held their breath as Neria, shield up and glowing, opened one of the doors.

What awaited them within the vast chamber beyond the double doors instantly put Runael on edge. In the center of the chamber sat what appeared to be a ritual circle on an elevated platform; in lieu of any physical sort of floor, however, was... she surmised 'pool of energy' was the best way to describe it. The energy was mostly dormant, but it occasionally flared upward. The air felt heavy in this room, as if something filled it; each time the energy flared, the weight in the air increased.

"So... much... raw magicka..." Elsera murmured softly, crimson eyes wide as she looked around. There was little else in the chamber other than this mysterious pool of energy, though - bookshelves with rotted books, bloodstained wraps of linen, burial urns that had been knocked over, ashes within spilled onto the floor of the chamber, and a set of stairs that led to a small balcony that overlooked the pool of energy.

"So that's what this is." The voice that responded to Elsera's comment was unfamiliar to them, and all four of them tensed. There was no one readily visible, though, and after all they'd seen, Runael wouldn't have been surprised if there was a spirit somewhere in the room, waiting to ambush them. "Good to know."

"Who's there? Show yourself!" Elsera snapped. Her hands lifted into the air, but her eyes went wide a moment later. "I-I can't channel..." she whispered, sounding horrified. Runael tried a moment later, and found that she, too, could not focus any magical energy into her palms. Panic settled in; she hadn't brought another weapon with her, as she hadn't been expecting a conflict of any sort in Labyrinthian.

A figure appeared on the balcony overhead; as distant as they were, Runael couldn't make out whether the figure was alive or dead. They were definitely humanoid, at the least, and wore what appeared to be scale armor. She could see their hair, but in the bright glow of the energy pool, she couldn't readily tell what color it was.

"Who are you?" Neria called up to them. She lowered her shield somewhat, much to Runael's surprise; another glance at the figure on the balcony, however, revealed the hilt of what was most likely a greatsword, and no other form of ranged weapon. If Elsera or herself could not focus magic in this strange room, then no doubt the figure could, either; if they wished to fight, they'd have to close the distance, and there would be ample opportunity to prepare for the unknown figure's advance.

"None of your business." The figure crossed their arms; with those four words, Runael heard unmistakably female tones in their voice, and began to assume the figure was a woman.

"The College of Winterhold was attacked so someone could gain entry to Labyrinthian," Runael snapped in retort. "As the Arch-Mage of the College, I think it's very much so _my_ business, if no one else's!" At this point, she'd have drawn a weapon or begun charging a spell in her hands, but neither was a viable option for her at present; she just wanted to appear far more menacing. "Are you with the robed bandit that stole the torc?!"

"You misunderstand one thing," the woman replied. "I'm not with them... _they_ are with _me_."

"Looks like we found the leader of Skyrim's bandits," Adalla intoned quietly. Runael nodded.

"To what end did you attack the College?" Runael asked sharply. "Why have you come here?"

"Look, _I_ had nothing to do with the attack on the College," came the exasperated response and sigh. "In fact, knowing that, I have choice words for the bastard who _was_ responsible. But as to why... well, I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

"You're not leaving until you do," Neria shot back. It was true; that they could see, there was only one way into or out of this strange chamber, and they were standing in the woman's way.

"So I just tell you, and you let me be on my merry way? Yeah right," the woman mused. She began to move then, walking from the edge of the balcony to the top of the stairs, then down the stairs. "I think you're more likely to try killing me once you know what you want to know. Odds are, if I don't tell you, you'll try killing me anyway. The less you know, the better off my situation is."

"How so? According to your scenarios, you'll be dead either way," Elsera remarked.

"No. According to my scenarios, you'll _try_ to kill me." The woman was at the bottom of the stairs now, and was approaching. "I didn't come to lead the bandits of Skyrim because of my good looks and greater intellect, that's for damn certain. I'm not 'just another bandit', and you'll all die if you try fighting me with that mindset. You'll try to kill me, but there's a good chance you'll fail and I'll get out."

"Doubtful. All we need to do is stand our ground and keep you from passing." Neria had her sword and shield at the ready once more. Runael could only stand there, knowing she had no weapon readily available or other means of fighting. All told, if a fight broke out, only Neria and Adalla would be fighting; right now, she and Elsera were just in the way.

"Hmm..." The woman's tone was thoughtful, and she was staring at Neria now. Runael cast a glance at Adalla, who returned the glance with a light, almost imperceptible nod. The armed Altmer began to move, as subtly as she could, and prepare for a strike while the woman was off-guard. "You... seem familiar..." The woman's words were directed at Neria. "But where could I possibly know...?"

Runael felt a blade bump against her hand, and she glanced down at it. Elsera was holding the ghost blade she'd collected, offering it to Runael. Deciding it was better than no weapon, she carefully took the blade by its hilt, then turned her attention back to the woman and Neria.

"I have... no..." Neria's voice trailed, and her stance relaxed slightly. "...Now that you mention it... you look... familiar, as well... very-" She gasped suddenly and took a couple steps back; Runael could now see the Breton's face, and saw her eyes were wide in recognition and disbelief. "Th-there's..."

"...Neria?" The woman had a similar facial reaction. "Is that really-"

For Runael, it was distraction enough. The woman's guard was completely down, and with some luck, Runael could plunge the blade into the woman's heart. She squeezed the hilt of the ghostly sword and charged at the woman. She ignored Neria's protest, focused only on the woman who was responsible for much of Skyrim's recent problems.

Thus, when the woman's eyes snapped to the Altmer, they narrowed. In one second, her hand was up at the hilt of her greatsword; another moment later, the larger blade was swinging at Runael, though the flat of the sword as aimed for her. The mer moved to duck the blade, but grunted in pain anyway; the woman had altered the path of the swing so as to strike her despite the attempt to dodge. The force of the blow sent her staggering toward the pool of energy, as well, but she caught her footing before she reached it. A quick glance behind her showed her just how close she was to the pool; she still had some comfortable distance from it.

When she faced forward once more, it was to see the woman charging at her, greatsword behind her and lowered somewhat. Runael recognized the woman was preparing a powerful strike of some sort, but she couldn't tell exactly what would happen. She lifted the spectral blade so as to offer some sort of protection from the greatsword. She realized her folly, however, when the woman planted her foot on the ground, pivoted her lower body, then swung, with upper body strength and all the might she could muster from her arms, at Runael.

The mer instantly recognized that the strike was far too powerful to simply block, and that she'd be wide open if she was foolish enough to try. Instead, she took a quick step back to avoid the tip of the blade, then readied her own blade for a quick thrust. The woman, though, had packed so much force behind her own swing that she was already spinning on the balls of her feet; even worse, she planted her other foot much closer to Runael.

The flat of the greatsword striking Runael in the side knocked the wind out of her and sent her flying off her feet. As she soared through the air, she became aware of the pool of energy glowing beneath her. She also became acutely aware of her relative position to the pool - and her rapid descent.

She realized, belatedly, that the Augur of Dunlain had actually been quite direct for a change. He had told her that she - Runael, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold - would never speak with him again.

Her death was the only guarantee of that. As she felt the pool of energy envelop her and cause unspeakable agony to course over her body, she knew that once again, the Augur of Dunlain had been right... that he was always right.

* * *

_**A.N.** \- ...Okay, so I pulled a 'Vile'. Shoot me._

_Runael dying was something I considered at about... what was it, Chapter 3? One day, I was just walking down the sidewalk, and as I was thinking 'what twist can I toss into Eventide?', the first thing that came to mind was 'what if Mia dies?' I dismissed that because she's pretty important and - let's face it - I love Mia's character. Can't kill her off (yet). 'How about Elsera?' No, too obvious. Introducing a new character, just to be death fodder? Poor taste, even for me. 'What about Runael?' ...Runael...Runael... holyfuckthatjustmightwork! I initially had the idea of her dying in some explosion, triggered by some Dwemer bomb in the Dwemer ruin, buuut decided that was a bit... well, much. The 'pool of raw magicka' idea came about as I thought 'what could possibly be in Labyrinthian that they discover?'. I was initially going for the ghostly weapons, the ghostly draugr... that sort of thing. You know, a 'point of origin' there. How do they come about? Why don't we send Runael in to investigate? She's Arch-Mage, she should know the most about- ohshitshejustgotkilledbysomethingRUNFORYOURLIFE!_

_So this was the route I took instead. It was a touch more dramatic, and unlike the 'ghost production thing', the raw magicka pool will have significance later in the story._

_It's been so long since I last wrote Hermaeus Mora, I feel like I wrote him wrong. It reads kind of right, though... so I don't know. Let me know what you think of a Herma-Mora with no official lines to serve as guidance._

_-Spiritslayer_


	13. Aftermath

The Palace of the Kings was silent. A somber air filled the great hall, those at the throne not much for talking. Ulfric was still trying to wrap his mind around the news that had just been delivered to him.

Galmar, too, was quiet. Ulfric knew exactly why.

He and Runael hadn't always seen eye-to-eye, but Galmar had considered her a friend nonetheless... so the news of her death had hit the gruff Nord rather hard, just as it had with Ulfric.

The High King wasn't sure if he dared believe it, himself. He knew that in the end, Runael could be killed just as easily as anybody else... but she'd always struck him as far more resilient than that, much smarter than most elves. She was the Arch-Mage of the College, for Talos' sake! Surely there was some magic she had used to circumvent the inevitability of death, or reverse it should it come to her unexpectedly? What if the one who died had been just something created to resemble her, and the real Runael was back at the College?

He heaved a sigh, leaned back in the throne, and covered his face with his hand. He was just trying to deny what he'd been told. He hoped, against all hope, that his only real elven friend was somehow still alive... but he knew better. This was not news anyone would deliver in jest... especially not Runael's friends.

His eyes, which had been unfocused and staring at nothing in particular for the longest time, went first to the high elf named Adalla. The elf seemed to be quite out of it, and he couldn't blame her; Runael had once told him - with some rather colorful words, as they'd been arguing - that Adalla was her best friend, and had been for many years. The memory brought a brief flicker of a smile to his lips, but faded once he realized he'd never have another argument with Runael.

His gaze shifted to the woman of mysterious origin, Mia. She was looking agitated - as if she could have done more to prevent Runael's death. He knew better than to tell her she probably did all she could have done; anyone being told such typically became even more agitated, and usually ended up on the verge of hysterics. He opted to leave her to her thoughts for now.

The Dunmer... his gaze lingered upon her for but a moment before he looked away again. Most Dunmer were as filth in his eyes, and at first, Elsera had been no different... that is, until she'd proven to have a similar nature to Runael's, albeit far more confrontational. The late Arch-Mage's apprentice looked to be grieving, but mingled with the despair of the loss was pure hatred and fury. He surmised vengeance was at the forefront of her mind; he knew the same bubbled at the back of his own, for now.

The Breton knight, Neria. It had been she who had managed to fish Runael out of the pool, or so he'd been informed. Her expression was the most curious to him. She bore no signs of grief, sadness or anger... but rather, confusion. It seemed as if something else - something possibly more important than the death of Runael - had latched onto her mind and refused to let go. He wanted to know, but he let it be for the time being.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He needed to break the silence. Inquiring about what they'd found in Labyrinthian seemed the best means of doing so, but he also did not want to come across as dismissive of Runael's death. The loss hit him remarkably hard, but he wasn't going to grieve forever... not when her killer was still out there, planning Talos-knows-what.

"Tell me more about this... pool." His voice was low, but authoritative.

"Raw magicka." It was the Dunmer who spoke, and her sharp gaze locked with his eyes the moment he opened them. "I'd never seen anything like it before, but there was... there was nothing else I could think of. Just raw and wild magicka."

"Wild?" he asked, quirking a brow at the use of the term. "You make it sound as if it can be tamed."

"It wasn't in use by anyone," she continued, "but it existed nonetheless. That's what I mean. Who knows how long it's been there, and what it was used for in the past. Everything I've ever read about Labyrinthian has never mentioned such a thing existing in the past, but there were signs that it was, at the least, observed by your ancestors."

"And this... bandit leader was there, observing it... but why? What importance could it possibly have to her?" He crossed his arms, a frown at his lips.

"I don't know." It was Neria who responded, and her voice cracked as she spoke. His brow raised while she cleared her throat; he hadn't been expecting her to be the one to respond. "But I do know... who she is. It doesn't explain why or how, though..."

All eyes were on her now. This was the first he'd heard of her recognizing the bandits' leader, but it was apparent from the expectant gazes of the other three that this startling revelation had come about for them in Labyrinthian itself.

"And... who-" he began.

"Larian," Neria murmured softly. "Larian Ravell. She... she disappeared fifteen years ago, in High Rock. We all assumed her to be dead, that... that some creature had eaten her body... it explained why we never found a body. But... she's alive... alive, and a bandit of Skyrim..." Her voice suggested she didn't quite dare believe it, although she'd been witness to the truth.

Ravell. The last name caught Ulfric's attention, and he stared at Neria closely.

"Larian was... pardon, is my older sister." With that and a heavy sigh, Neria Ravell looked down at her feet. "Ashamed of it though I am to admit, given the circumstances..." Everyone else looked astonished to learn the truth, but Ulfric was not. He'd sent a soldier to the White Phial with the intent of obtaining contact information for Elsath, whom he wished to notify about Neria's rather defiant behavior; he'd uncovered the last name of the Breton knight in the process.

"...This ain't gettin' us nowhere," Mia finally said, shaking her head lightly. "Runael's dead, aye, but we ain't. This... Larian ain't. We gotta put a stop t'her afore somethin' goes wrong." Ulfric agreed with her, but...

"We have no leads as to where she's gone, nor what she's planning. We have the Dwemer ruin that they were interested in, and then the attack on the College, which obviously was meant to get into Labyrinthian in the first place." He furrowed his brow and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I stationed some soldiers near the Dwemer ruin, shortly after you reported its existence," he added, looking at Neria. "They've sent no reports of anyone coming or going since they've arrived. The attack on the College has already resolved, and its purpose is very clear."

"...I think..." Elsera began to speak slowly. "I think I ought to head back to the College... check up on it, make sure nothing's wrong... there's also something the Arch... I mean Runael mentioned before we... before she died. She told me that... that she'd tell me more about it when... when we finished up in Labyrinthian. I don't know how important it is to all of this, but..." Ulfric nodded to this. If there was a chance of anything surfacing from even the most obscure place, then he'd welcome it.

"There's still the ruin, too," Neria said after a moment's silence. "The Dwemer ruin, I mean. If we can find whatever the bandits were looking for in there, then maybe we can figure out a link between it, the bandits, and... well, if there's any connection to Labyrinthian, we'll find it there."

"We'll go with ya," Mia said softly. "Adalla and me, that is. If ya never been in a Dwemer ruin, yer gonna get hurt by them traps and other machines. Just ask Adalla."

The high elf's cheeks darkened, but she gave a silent nod of confirmation.

"I, in the meantime, will circulate news of this... 'bandit queen', Larian," Ulfric said with an air of finality. "I'll put the whole of Skyrim on high alert, such that even a glimpse of her will have her cornered within mere seconds. She'll not escape a second time."

* * *

Mount Anthor was hardly the most comfortable place in Skyrim. In fact, if Larian had to be honest, it was probably the least comfortable place in all existence.

And yet, it was here, in this abandoned dragon's lair, that Derrick insisted on not just meeting with her from now on, but also seemed to be living in. Larian couldn't fathom why he'd choose such a desolate place as a home, but knew better than to judge; she'd lived in caves several times in her life.

"How went your foray?" she asked once she saw him sitting at a small and simple table he'd likely constructed.

"Well. I ran into a little opposition, but it was nothing I couldn't escape." He didn't look up at her. "How did your trip to Labyrinthian go?"

She threw the torc at him, and felt a sense of satisfaction as the chunk of metal struck the side of his head. He cried out in pain and clutched his head; she noticed that blood was starting to run down the side of his head.

"What was that for?!" he roared angrily.

"You. Attacked. The College. Of Winterhold," she hissed furiously. "I thought you were going to just infiltrate it and steal that damnable thing! Do you know what happened to me in there?! Because you attacked the College, I had a group of explorers - led by the Arch-Mage herself - confront me in Labyrinthian! If you'd just played it subtle, they'd never have known until I was long gone from the ruin, but no! Mister 'fuck everyone and everything' had to get violent!"

"That gate wouldn't open for me!" he snapped.

"I don't care! Get even more creative, then, and don't degenerate into a mindset of 'hurr durr, I barbarian who don't give fuck about nothing'!"

He scowled at her, then pulled his hand away from the side of his head. Blood glistened on his entire hand, and judging from the way it continued to stream down the side of his face, it was far from over for him.

"So... what, you killed all of them? Then who cares about-"

"I killed the Arch-Mage," she interrupted, "and fled while the other three fished her body out of a pool of raw magicka. I don't think there are any trails left for them to pick up; I, at least, covered my tracks well. It wouldn't surprise me, though, if Skyrim suddenly knows who I am." She scowled. "My younger sister, Neria, was among the group who confronted me."

He scoffed and pressed his hand to the side of his head once more.

"Once this is over, I'm getting the hell out of Skyrim. Maybe I'll visit Cyrodiil, or go back to High Rock." She shrugged it off. "I don't know. Anywhere but here, really."

"One thing at a time," he muttered. "You said you found a pool of raw magicka? How do you know?"

"That's what some Dunmer in their group said, and I had no idea what it was otherwise. You tell me, Derrick: does it sound similar to whatever you found in the Dwemer ruin?" To her surprise, he gave a nod - albeit a very faint one, given the state of his head.

"Yes. So we've found both of the magical emanations. Once I can get this to stop bleeding like a bitch, I'll contact Clavicus Vile and let him know we've succeeded in our task, and I'll let you know what our new instructions are to be." He glowered at her. "Help me out here?"

She honestly didn't want to. She honestly hoped that he bled to death in his attempt to stop the bleeding; that way, she'd be done with him forever. And yet... she'd gone too far with this whole Clavicus Vile thing to let it go. She didn't know if she'd still need Derrick or not for the future tasks, but decided she wasn't going to leave anything to chance. It was better to use and abuse the piece of shit that called itself an Imperial rather than let it die and find someone or something else to replace it. Even as she approached him to help, however, she made a mental vow that his life would end the second he was no longer a necessity to her, and that she'd either take his head off with her greatsword or shove it through his chest, twist with all her might, then forcibly rip it out of his side. Either way, a painful and gruesome death awaited him at the end of all of this.

"So... your younger sister." He picked up a roll of bandages and a bottle filled with a strange, clear liquid and extended it to her. "Get a cloth, soak it with the liquid, then dab it at the spot where you so graciously hit me."

"Shut up," she snarled, snatching the roll and bottle from him. She followed his instructions, though, and allowed herself a moment to press the soaked cloth against the side of his head harder than was necessary when he hissed in pain at its touch.

"Be gentle, bitch," he growled, "or I'll snap your neck."

"You'll find my sword through your chest beforehand," she countered; nonetheless, she did ease up on the side of his head, reminding herself that if anything happened to him, she was back to searching for competent help. She withdrew the cloth, shifted it in her hand, then dabbed a clean section of the soaked cloth against his head; he didn't hiss this time.

"How long has it been since you saw your sister?" he asked as she worked.

"Fifteen years - not that it's any of your business, mind you, but there it is." She continued to dab at his head with the cloth, waiting for the bleeding to lessen and eventually stop. "I'd never seen her as a fighter in the past, but there she was... heavy armor, a glimmering sword and a sturdy shield, more than willing to stand at the front of their little group." She tossed the mostly bloodstained cloth aside and grabbed a new and clean one, and resumed the process. "She was always really quiet, afraid of confrontation. I was usually the one standing up for her if she was picked on - and she often was. If she was alone, she usually cried and cried."

"So how do you know it was her?" he asked, doubt tinging his voice.

"Because she recognized me, as well. We're both much older, yes, but we grew up together; no amount of time is going to make us forget one another." She continued to work in silence until the cloth sported only faint bloodstains now, suggesting the bleeding had died down drastically.

"Grab that roll and bandage my head," he muttered. She was of a mind to shove it into his hands and tell him to do it himself, but she decided that learning how to do this would be a valuable skill, especially if she found herself in such a situation at any point in the future. At first, she struggled to get it right, but with his guidance, she managed to fasten a bandage around his head.

"Should've just let you bleed out," she grumbled, shoving the cork back into the top of the bottle.

"Very funny. We both know I'm too valuable and irreplaceable to you." He reached up and gingerly touched the side of his head with his unbloodied hand.

"And so modest besides," she sighed. She stood up, scooped up a handful of snow, and wiped her hands as clean as she could get them. "Get to contacting Vile already. The sooner we can continue all this, the better off we'll be."

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Shit's gettin' real now. Larian's plotting Derrick's death, and everyone's planning to get down to the bottom of this - no matter what it takes._

_Throwing the torc at Derrick's head. I enjoyed that a lot more than I probably should have. We all know he's a scumbag, right? Right? ...No? 'Misunderstood Imperial who's not the brightest bulb in the pack'? Okay... sure, let's go with that. We'll call the shorthand 'scumbag', though, just for funsies._

_-Spiritslayer_


	14. The Heart Of The Matter

The Midden was a dark place. Elsera was almost assured it was haunted, and expected some gruesome phantom to appear out of nowhere at any moment and rip the flesh from her body, or some other means of killing her in a horrifying manner. Uncovering its location was not particularly difficult; Tolfdir, the Master Wizard, had been quite free in telling her how to reach it. He also mentioned someone called the Augur of Dunlain, and said that he and Runael were friends. Mention of the late Arch-Mage had prompted her to inform the Master Wizard of her demise.

The College was without an Arch-Mage. There were no other candidates readily available. Tolfdir said he'd keep the matter quiet for the time being, lest mentioning it cause the rest of the College to suddenly deteriorate, as each mage within the walls vied for the now-vacant position.

Elsera almost hadn't descended into the Midden. She saw little point to visiting the Augur, or investigating the mysterious place. She had no idea whatsoever what any of it would have to do with the bandits, or whatever Larian Ravell was up to.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind. Even thinking of the name 'Larian' made the Dunmer's blood boil. She would murder the so-called 'bandit queen' herself, and avenge Runael... no matter what it took. She had sounded hopeful in the Palace of the Kings, thought the Midden a good idea... but now that she was here, she doubted it quite fiercely.

She pushed on, though, and before long, found herself standing before a door that looked as if it had been visited sporadically over the years. She reached out to open it.

"You'll find few answers here, only more questions." The voice was male and reached her ears before her hand even touched the door. She grit her teeth and moved her hand closer, touched the door, and tried to force it open. It didn't budge, much to her confusion. "Still you persist... enter, then." The door swung open of its own accord, nearly yanking Elsera to the floor with the motion; she released the handle before it could pull her off-balance. She stepped into the room and looked around for the speaker.

No one was inside. There was only a strange pit that glowed blue before her.

"I warned her, you know." The voice reached her ears again, and was louder; as it spoke, the glow intensified. The Dunmer stared in disbelief. Was this the Augur of Dunlain? "I told her that one of you four would die before this fool's errand for a haughty king was done. She, who had always placed great value in my warnings in the past, ignored this one. You know how that ended."

"You told her someone was going to die. The three of us were close to her," she said defensively. "Of course she ignored it; what else could she have done?"

"Ignored him. Then, she would still be alive, and the haughty king would be making progress regardless; you've met the knight who reluctantly helps him." It took her a moment to realize the Augur as referring to Neria when he mentioned the 'knight'. "All the Arch-Mage did was accelerate her own demise, and for nothing but to further the plot ahead."

"Explain. _Now_," Elsera growled. She had never heard anyone in the College speak of Runael in such a manner... with a condescending, 'I was right, I'm always right' sort of tone.

"Had she remained at the College, the attack would have failed, and access to the ruin would have been halted altogether. Instead, her involvement with all of this enabled the attack to succeed, and have set the wheels into inexorable motion. Now, there is no delaying it, only stopping it... or failing that."

The Dunmer's hands slammed hard on the edge of the pit. Her crimson eyes flashed dangerously in the blue glow.

"Your anger is misguided. Don't forget I tried to warn her off this path, and she ignored me." His words, arrogant though they sounded to her, rang true. She heaved an irritated sigh and stood up straight once more, hands lifting from the pit's edge.

"What is this... plot?"

"Two who were never direct rivals in the past have become such. For years, they endeavored to humiliate the other, but they always failed. One sees no sense in continuing the feud, and instead strives for a loftier goal; the other senses this, and aims to thwart the first."

"Be more specific, dammit!" she snarled. "Now is not the time to be vague!" To her surprise, he chuckled at her words. "What's so-"

"You are quite like the late Arch-Mage, you know," he said calmly. "Perhaps that is why she took you under her wing, intent on making you as great as - if not greater than - herself. In you, I see a part of her lives on."

The words took her aback, silenced her frustrated outburst and had an inexplicably calming effect on her thoughts. She'd never been likened to Runael before, by anyone.

"The bandit queen serves the first, though she knows not his true intentions. She presumes to be the leader, but it is the champion who pulls the strings. The very same champion that assaulted the College stole away the key, and thus enabled this doom-filled plot to be set in motion."

"Specifics," the Dunmer growled.

"Perhaps I was wrong. The Arch-Mage was not quite so insistent." Elsera's hands smacked the edge of the pit again. "In any event, you would not believe me if I gave specifics. The powers involved in the plot are beyond this realm, but seek to enter forcibly - despite sacrifices made two hundred and ten years ago."

Two hundred and ten years ago. Elsera knew exactly what had transpired then.

"The Oblivion Crisis," she whispered.

"Two more warnings I give you, greatest hope for the College." The blue light began to dim. "The first is to be relayed."

"Let me hear it, then."

"An old enemy approaches from the west. A blind king cannot halt their advance until they are near enough to be heard... and by then, it is too late."

"...Ulfric?" she inquired. "He's not blind-"

"In the grand scheme of things, you are wrong with that assessment." She scowled at the tone of self-assuredness he took.

"And the second warning?"

"Your greatest enemy will be your greatest ally in the coming days. Rein in your anger, or you condemn your realm to darkness." The glow flickered now.

"I am not sparing that bitch," Elsera snapped.

"The Arch-Mage ignored my warning, too," he said. The light faded altogether. "Where is she now?" With those final words, Elsera felt the presence fade. She knew better than to snap at the Augur in agitation, knowing it to be more likely that she was snapping at no one in particular. She didn't like the voice that she presumed to be the Augur of Dunlain. She hoped this would be the last time she'd ever visit him.

Even so, as she left, much of what he said resonated with her. He had mentioned powers 'beyond this realm, but seek to enter forcibly - despite sacrifices made two hundred and ten years ago'. There could be only one answer to such a carefully worded phrase.

Elsera's pace quickened. She had to get word of all she'd heard to Ulfric immediately, and share what she believed was to come: one of the Daedric Princes was trying to force their way into Tamriel, and was using Larian Ravell to reach that goal.

* * *

Getting past Ulfric's guards had been, as Ulfric said it would be, impossible. Nothing Adalla said would get them past; no amount of coin from Mia worked, no words from Neria. Ultimately, they were forced to use the scroll Ulfric had written and handed off to them, permitting them entry into the Dwemer ruin; the second it had been read, the guards, quite annoyed at the methods the trio had tried to use, allowed them to proceed into the ruin.

For Neria, the ruin was like stepping into another world altogether. Everything looked extraordinary, and none of it seemed to have a place in Skyrim. To her, everything looked out-of-place. Fortunately for her, Mia and Adalla had seen Dwemer ruins before, and thus they knew what belonged and what didn't. Everything they saw as they ventured through the ruin was nothing peculiar to them. Even when Neria felt a wire snap against her boot and was pulled aside by Mia, only to watch a vicious-looking claw swing through the air where she'd just been standing and slam into the wall, was not unfamiliar to Mia or Adalla.

Neria had heard of the Falmer in stories, spoken of as legends mostly, excluding the one work the court wizard of Markarth, Calcelmo, had published six years ago. His was a work of non-fiction, describing in great detail the twisted creatures. She had hoped to never encounter one in her life. To encounter what Mia called a hive of them, then, was mortifying, and Neria as infinitely grateful she was not alone in this; she was almost certain she'd have been killed if she was alone.

Or captured, she amended once they discovered something that looked like a prison complex. Tall walls of a chitinous material towered over their heads; Neria's fingers slid effortlessly over the walls, and she presumed it was impossible to climb them. There were strange, claw-like gates that refused to budge for her, but Mia had apparently solved the mystery of opening them, for they posed no challenge whatsoever to her own attempts. Inside the 'cells' were the corpses of many humans, some mer, and a couple Khajiit and Argonians. Judging from how they were dressed, Neria presumed they were bandits; judging from the wounds upon their body, they were likely tortured by their captors. Judging from the deep cuts at their throats and the small blades nearby, they had all killed themselves.

There was one, however, who was not dead. It was a female Redguard who shifted when they began to move away from her 'cell', and Neria felt Mia's hand clap over her mouth before she could scream in horror. It took her a moment to realize it was not one of the walking dead; this Redguard was still alive.

"Who are you?" the Redguard asked quietly. "How did you get past the Falmer?"

"I'm Mia," Mia answered, "and we killed 'em all... or least, the ones what all got in our way."

"There's nothing further ahead," the Redguard whispered, as if worried raising her voice too much would draw the wrath of a hundred furious Falmer. "Just their torture devices, and..." She shuddered. "A-and their chaurus pens... where they f-feed those of us who died or are dying t-to those..."

Mia sighed and opened the gate. The Redguard stared at her in disbelief.

"Can ya fight?"

"Give me a weapon, and yes." Neria could see the faint glimmer of hope in the Redguard's eyes. Mia complied with the request and pulled a steel dagger out of her pack - one of the many weapons they'd found in the other cells. She didn't hand it right to the Redguard, though.

"Who are you, then? Yer dressed like a bandit. It's 'cause of bandits that we're here, see; they dug out this Dwemer ruin for a reason."

The Redguard looked horrified, and shrank back a bit. That told Mia, Adalla and Neria all they needed to know.

"Wait!" the Redguard pleaded, seeing Mia draw her bow and pull an ebony arrow back. "I-I... y-yes, I'm a bandit... Nadine's my name. L-look, I... please don't kill me. I-I'll go straight, I swear... please just give me a chance-"

"Unless ya know somethin', yer of no use t'anyone."

To everyone's surprise, Neria's hand gripped the shaft of the arrow and forced Mia's aimed shot downward. She did not release the arrow. Even Neria was surprised; these bandits were under Larian's influence, and the fewer of them there were, the weaker her sister's hold on Skyrim was. So why was she protecting this bandit?

"What do you know?" Neria asked quietly. "Tell us everything you know about this ruin, why it was dug out, and what Larian's up to." Nadine's brows raised in surprise at the mention of Larian, but she didn't inquire.

"A-all I know is that Larian and Derrick wanted the ruin dug out because of something that's in it," the Redguard began quickly. "I-I listened in one day, heard Larian and Derrick talking about 'magical energies'. I... I could have sworn I heard them mention 'Vile', too, but-"

Mia's eyes flashed, and Adalla, who had been standing guard, almost dropped her blade.

"Say that again," Mia hissed.

"Th-they... mentioned 'Vile'?" Nadine looked very fearful for her life, and Neria's grip on the arrow tightened; she feared Mia would release the bowstring and shoot Nadine if she didn't. She was not disappointed; Mia's fingers released the bowstring, and it twanged audibly against Neria's gauntlet, but the arrow remained in place.

"As in Clavicus Vile?" Adalla whispered.

"I-I... y-yes. Yes, I heard 'Clavicus' after a time," Nadine murmured. "But... but wait, isn't he one of-"

"The Daedric Princes," Adalla said with a nod. "He's one I've... I've worked with in the past... and because of that, he has a grudge." Neria and Nadine were both surprised to hear this. "Last I knew... he was trying to invade Tamriel. Mia and I stopped him before he could succeed, but-"

"H-hold on," Nadine said quickly. "D-doesn't that statue in the Imperial City prevent...?"

"One would think, but..." Adalla looked troubled, and was hesitant to continue speaking, as well. "...Vile _did_ get into Apocrypha once... there's no telling what secrets he learned... and if he's up to something now, it can't be good..."

"We gotta get this information back t'Ulfric," Mia said firmly. "If Vile's plannin' t'invade Tamriel, we're gonna need an army t'scour Skyrim for Larian and what's-his-face..." She glanced at Nadine.

"Derrick. Larian didn't like him, or trust him much. He gave me a bad feeling, as well... like he had some other motive." The Redguard looked at Neria. "Take me with you. I-I'll tell Ulfric everything I know. I-if everything Larian's doing is for the purpose of getting a Daedric Prince into Tamriel, I-I want nothing to do with it. I'd rather die than help her reach that goal."

"No," Mia said stiffly. "Ya can stay here and rot for all ya done so far." Before she could say anything further, though, Neria had snatched the steel dagger Mia had dropped and extended it to Nadine. "What the fuck do ya think yer-"

"She may know more," Neria interrupted. She locked eyes with Nadine, who took the dagger with shaking hands. "I'll keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't turn traitor on us, and we'll turn her in the moment we reach Ulfric. We'll bind her once we're out of the ruin."

"I-I won't run, or hurt you," Nadine began slowly, "b-but if you think it's best, then... then I won't argue it."

Mia and Adalla exchanged concerned glances. When Mia looked back at Neria, her gaze was hard.

"If she does anythin' funny, I'm killin' ya both," she growled. "We ain't got time t'waste bein' merciful t'bandits or those what sympathize with 'em." With that, she turned away and stalked out of the prison area; Adalla caught up to her moments later.

"Th-thank you," Nadine said softly. She looked as if she was contemplating embracing Neria, but extended her hand toward her instead. "You... you know Larian. M-mentioning her name wasn't just..."

"Larian's my older sister," Neria said solemnly. "To hear she's involved in all of this... it breaks my heart, knowing she's..." She took Nadine's hand and gave it a shake.

"There... there was something else... I overheard..." Nadine paused briefly. "It... sounded like Larian didn't know why she was doing what was being asked of her... she kept asking Derrick to explain. It seemed like he knew full well what they were working toward, though... because he kept telling her she didn't need to worry about it."

Hearing that her sister was probably oblivious brought equal parts relief and horror to Neria. Her sister wasn't devoted to bringing Vile into Tamriel, then... but at the same time, she was in well over her head.

"W-we should get going," Nadine said after a time. "Th-they're about to lose us."

"Right." She gestured for the Redguard to move ahead of her. "Stay in front of me. I trust you more than Mia and Adalla do, but I don't trust you enough."

"Not surprising," Nadine chuckled weakly. "I'll give you no reason to distrust me, though... promise."

* * *

_**A.N.** \- __Nadine's got a loyalty to Larian - and she's not going to wrong her friend's younger sister. Even though she probably deserves it for trusting a bandit she just met. For weird reasons. (I contemplated Mia shooting Nadine in the head before Neria could grab the arrow, then strut around going 'whatcha gonna do, eh? whatcha gonna do, eh?', but decided against it because then they'd draw all the living Falmer's attention... and that's game over, even for Mia._

_Ah, the Augur. Long and short, I like the Augur's character as established in my story (albeit he seems to be something of an oracle, no?), though that's not a knock on Bethesda's oracle- I mean Augur. (*cough*) I also like Elsera, so writing their exchange was pretty fun. I contemplated throwing in a bit of violence, but really, how would that end against a disembodied voice/spirit? Not well for Elsera, I can guess that. (It makes me wonder if the Augur's actually capable of fighting with spells... hmm...)_

_Also, in case anyone's curious, yes, I am going to be releasing the rest of Eventide, to chapters at a time, on a daily basis now that it's finished. Why? Because why not? The suspense is killing even ME, and I WROTE the damn story!_

_-Spiritslayer_


	15. Let There Be Light

Larian had been equal parts relieved and irritated when Derrick said they wouldn't need to return to Labyrinthian or the Dwemer ruin; now that they'd both been in the presence of the magical energies, they'd absorbed trace amounts of it. Derrick had removed the traces of raw magicka from himself and Larian, and could do the rest of his own task from there. He had informed Larian that the book she carried with her had been filled in considerably further, and that Vile had no further tasks for her at this time.

That did not sit well with her. She was beginning to wonder why she was even needed in the first place, then, if all she'd had to do was amuse Clavicus Vile by assuming control of all the bandits of Skyrim, and then track down a source of magicka in an ancient ruin. Surely Derrick could have achieved both of those results on his own?

Reading the book didn't do much to distract her mind, either. Once the chapters about the Oblivion Crisis had come to a close, the chapters following detailed how to open gates to Oblivion. Nothing she was really interested in, as she had no interest whatsoever in opening such a gate. Still, by the time she finished reading the words that made sense to her and ignoring the terms that surely only a wizard would understand, she noticed there were several more blank pages yet. She was not finished with Clavicus Vile yet, then.

She decided to leave Mount Anthor for a time, to venture into a relatively warmer area. Tempting though Falkreath seemed, the Dwemer ruin was there; if Neria's group had investigated anywhere else, no doubt they'd plan to explore it - if they hadn't already.

The only warmer place she could think of was Eastmarch. The volcanic tundra heated the water there, meaning she could swim and relax, and it was probably one of the warmer areas in Skyrim because of that. She knew there were significant risks with her assessment - for example, even Eastmarch's volcanic tundra could become cold, not to mention its proximity to Windhelm - but she decided they were risks worth taking. She left Mount Anthor without notifying Derrick; the less she had to see the face of that scumbag, the better off she would ultimately be.

It took her about four days to reach the volcanic tundra. Once she was there, she set up a small camp, set up traps that would kill any predatory animals that thought her camp a fine place to find an unsuspecting meal, then stripped out of her scale armor and strode into the heated water.

Just like that, she felt her stress begin to melt away. She was a little put out by the fact that the water only came up to about her waist while she stood, and there were scarce few places for her to sit so she'd not only be comfortable, but would also be submerged up to her neck - or a bit deeper, if she so chose. Still, the water was refreshing, and tugged at her memories faintly.

The memories were of home, of High Rock. Of times spent with her parents and her younger sister, Neria. Trekking through the woods with their father, sitting near the fireplace with their mother on stormy evenings, swimming in the bay whenever their parents had business elsewhere in the province... happier times, times when she was blissfully unaware of the cruelty and harsh realities that existed throughout the rest of the world... even her own corner of High Rock.

Her happy memories quickly shifted to the start of the darker memories. In an attempt to dismiss them, she ducked her head beneath the water, submerging herself completely in the warm water. She remained that way for several long moments, and emerged only when her lungs screamed for air. As she gasped for air, she found her thoughts were still fixed firmly on the darker memories. She had to push them down; there was only one person she would ever share them with, and Neria was nowhere nearby. With a heavy heart, she doubted Neria would ever understand her current position, too - in the service of a Daedric Prince, she had undoubtedly come across as a villain, a woman with evil in her heart.

It broke Larian's heart to think of it like that. For her, nothing she did was for the sake of being malicious. It was the only way she knew to stay alive anymore - no more, no less.

The heat of the area made her head swim a bit, and she knew it was as good a time as any to get out of the water, lest she doze off, fall over, and drown in her sleep. As she stood, she ran her fingers over her bare skin, shivering at both the touch and the change in temperature above the water. She was tempted to sit down and warm up once more, but ultimately decided against it and forced herself out of the water. She was glad she always had a spare cloak with her; it was proving useful as a seat on the cool stone.

"Yo."

The voice made her jump notably and caused her to cry out. Her head whipped around, soaked brown hair sticking to her head as she looked around. Her arms crossed over her chest, and her legs clamped together. The voice had been male, and it was laughing at her reaction.

"Sorry." There was the sound of heavy armor stepping over stone, and Larian's attention snapped to the direction of the approaching man. She barely had time to kneel down and seize the hilt of her sword before the man stood before her. She shot him a venomous glare and began to move the blade. She stopped, though, when she saw a face she recognized, albeit barely.

"Galar?" she asked with heavy disbelief. When he nodded, she felt the fury melt away entirely; in its place, embarrassment overcame her. "Bastard. Look away."

"Oh, don't be that way," he chuckled, crossing his arms. "I've seen you naked before."

"Yeah, well, remember how I told you never again?" She glowered at him. "Look away before I-" It took her but a few seconds to realize what he was clad in. Ringmail armor, with a blue sash crossing over his chest; she knew it was mirrored on his back. She stared at him, and curled into a defensive ball. Once again, her hand was at the greatsword's hilt. "A Stormcloak now, are you?"

"I owe them my life," he said with a sigh. "After the gang went its separate ways, I fell in with some idiots. They tried to raid a caravan that was guarded better than they realized. I was part of it, and I think I was the only survivor. Apparently I looked more like an adventurer than a bandit, because I woke up in a Stormcloak camp, my wounds tended to."

"Because Nords take care of their own," Larian grumbled, "but no one else."

"Hey, that's not fair," he said with a frown. "I care about _you_, after-"

"Enough," she said, interrupting him. Silence settled between them. Larian's mind was racing. Galar, a Stormcloak. A Stormcloak was standing right in front of her. She was most likely a wanted woman now, all through Skyrim. "So what now?" she finally asked, forcing her voice to remain calm.

"You're a wanted woman," he commented, confirming her suspicion. "Your crimes aren't limited to a single hold, Larian."

"So... what, you're bringing me in because you found me?" she asked stiffly. To her surprise, he shook his head.

"May I sit?" A silent nod from Larian prompted the Nord to sit down before her, crossing his legs and groaning softly. "Hahh... been standing too long. Legs are killing me."

"You're not just going to let me-" she began.

"Larian, listen." He clasped his hands in front of him. "Yes, you're a wanted woman... but dammit, you're one of the most important people in my life. You, Nadine... we all went through a lot together. I may be loyal to Ulfric now, yeah, but my loyalty to you's always going to be just a bit stronger than that." He winked at her. "Miss Bandit Queen."

"Pfft." She shot him a stern look. "So what do you want from me in return for you not bringing me in? If you're after-"

"I'm not going to take advantage of this," he said, shaking his head and cutting her off. "You told me, years ago, that we were over. I may not like it, but I'll respect both that and you. No, I just wanted to let you know that all of Skyrim's out to get you now... give you a chance to get out before you're caught."

"I won't be-" she began. He held up a hand to cut her off.

"Even the towns know who you are, and that you're a wanted woman," he said quietly. "Ulfric's sending more guards to anywhere that's got a home, including ridiculously tiny farms in the countryside. He's trying to deprive you of resources, Larian."

"I'm not in this alone," she muttered. "There are bandit hideouts dotting Skyrim everywhere. I can't do much on my own, true, but with others..."

"About that..." Galar scratched his chin briefly. "Ulfric's put a rather generous bounty on bandits. It's... let's see here..." He cleared his throat. "One hundred septims per bandit slain. An additional one thousand for clearing out a hideout. Proof must be presented for the bounty to be claimed."

"Good luck with that," she muttered.

"You'd be surprised how many adventurers have come in with proof," Galar said grimly. "Several of the hideouts in the northern reaches have been wiped out. Ulfric sends Stormcloaks to confirm the deed was done. I've seen a few, myself." He stared at her for a time. "Your... 'kingdom' is crumbling, Larian."

"Fuck." She wracked her brain for any other options, but none were readily forthcoming. Galar was right; before long, she'd be out of resources, and would have no safe havens to enter. Entering guarded locations would most likely end in her capture - or worse.

"I figured you might want to see this." He reached into a small pack and withdrew a roll of paper, then handed it to her. She reached out, unfurled it, and scanned it. A wanted poster with a scarily accurate picture of her face and hair, her full name, and why she was wanted. One phrase in particular made her eyes widen, and she sputtered in protest.

"The fuck- 'conspiring to open a portal to Oblivion'?!" she snapped, looking up at him. "What- I- the fuck- who?!"

"Nadine turned herself in," Galar said solemnly. "She overheard you talking with some Imperial mage about Clavicus Vile. The ones who brought her in apparently had past experiences with him, and... well, he had designs on invading Tamriel. They think you're working to achieve that goal."

"I'm not!" she replied hotly, hands slamming down on the stone on either side of her. "I mean, yes, I've been doing some strange things for Vile, but not to open some gods-damned portal!"

"That may line up with what Nadine told me, then," he said with a nod. "She said it didn't seem like you were aware of it. Ulfric doesn't seem to care, though, as you can see."

Larian's mind spun. It was insanity. She would never, in her wildest dreams, open a portal to Oblivion for _anyone_, especially a Daedric Prince. She knew all about the Oblivion Crisis, had read the book by that exact title several times as a child... knew how foolish the very thought was. She knew how dangerous the very prospect of even plotting to do such a thing would be, never mind performing it.

And yet... she _was_ doing things for Clavicus Vile, with no explanation being offered to her by either the Daedric Prince or Derrick. Derrick certainly did seem to know more about these plans and how they were all connected than she did.

"That... filthy... gutterborn... piece... of..." Larian was trembling now. Her fingernails dragged over the stone as she pulled her hands into tight fists. "All this time..." She looked up at Galar. "You have to believe me, Galar, I didn't-"

"I do, Larian. I trust you and Nadine, don't forget. We're both looking out for you." He reached out and placed a fur-covered hand on her shoulder. "That's why we both think it's best if you get out of Skyrim, before you get caught... and believe me, if you stay here too long, you _will_ be caught."

"And what of Derrick? Is there anything on him yet?" Her heart plummeted as her friend shook his head. "...Bastard. I'm thrown to the bears, and he's the one actually..." She thought about how she'd left him alone on Mount Anthor, and her eyes widened.

_She'd left him alone on Mount Anthor._

"Shit..." She stood up, hands grabbing at her scale armor. "Shit, shit,_ shit shit shit_..."

"Larian-" he began.

"I left him alone on Mount Anthor, where he's been hiding out lately!" she howled. "I- _FUCK!_" She began to pull her armor on, the curses streaming from her lips endlessly.

Galar, too, was on his feet. His expression was one of horror and realization at what she'd just said. He reached down and picked up her bracers, handing them to her once she had the chest armor secured in place once more. She took them hastily from him, fastened them to her forearms, then began to pull on her boots.

"I'll head back to Windhelm and-"

"There's no time!" she said, bordering on hysterics. "If what you said is true, he may be working to open that damnable portal right this second!" Once her boots were on, she seized the hilt of her greatsword and locked eyes with Galar. "Trust me," she pleaded. "Come with me, help me _kill_ this piece of skeever shit before he-" He cut her off with a chuckle. "What-"

"I've never, not once, stopped trusting you, Larian," he replied. "Never forget that. Now... Mount Anthor, you said? That's a good distance from here..."

"I should have known better..." she growled. "I should have stayed, kept an eye on him... gods above, I _should have stayed!_" Her gaze turned toward Mount Anthor, her eyes narrowed dangerously. "He's always seemed... off, and I was planning on killing him at the end of all this," she growled, "but to find out he's..."

"Snap out of it, Larian," Galar said, squeezing her shoulder. "Standing here's not going to bring us any closer to him!"

"I..." She sighed and looked at him once more. "...Yeah. Sorry, I just..." She paused briefly, then leaned forward and kissed his lips. The motion caught him by surprise, and he looked startled once she backed away from it.

"I thought you said, last time we-" he began.

"Yeah, well, _that's_ the last one," she said with a bitter chuckle. "Thank you for... you know, not arresting me and all that..." She squeezed the hilt of her greatsword, then pointed the large blade at Mount Anthor. "Now, let's-"

A column of light erupted skyward from Mount Anthor almost instantly after her blade was pointed at it. Her eyes widened, and the blade nearly fell from her hands in shock.

"What-" Galar began.

"I-I-I didn't do it, I swear!" she stammered. "I-it was just-"

"No, I believe you, Larian, but what-" He slid an arm around her upper back, keeping her mostly upright when she would have otherwise fallen to her knees.

"It's Derrick," she whispered under her breath. "That's Mount Anthor... and that column of light can only be Derrick's doing..."

"You... don't think..." he began slowly.

"I hope not," she said, shaking her head. "I really, really, _really_ hope not... because if it is, I've had a hand in all of this madness, and any blood spilled is on my hands as well..." Her momentary lapse of despair and hopelessness were soon replaced by a slowly but very steadily growing fury. Her hand gripped the hilt of her greatsword once again, tight enough that her knuckles were white and the blade itself quivered in her grasp.

"Race you there?" Galar offered.

"Loser confesses to being a bandit before they became a Stormcloak." With that, Larian tore away from the camp as fast as she could, determined to reach Mount Anthor before it was truly too late... if it wasn't already.

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Poor Larian. Poor, poor Larian. In her desperate attempt to get away from scumbag number one, she never considered he might be up to no good while she was gone. Is Derrick a genius? Did he deliberately act insufferable so as to make this happen?! (No. No he didn't. He really is just an arrogant prick and scumbag.)_

_So Galar. Stormcloak from Helgen, buddy-buddy with Neria. It seemed a waste not to give him a backstory (I mean, I gave him a name, dammit!), and I couldn't think of anything else right off the top of my head that sounded Nordic... so I used Galar. He and Larian have history, and it's... mostly good. Some rough spots between them, but nothing they can't work past. He'll have a few more parts to play in the very near future._

_It kind of feels like I'm forgetting to cover something here... oh well._

_-Spiritslayer_


	16. Prelude To Chaos

It was impossible. There had to be something else going on. There was just no way that...

Even despite her best attempts to dismiss what had just transpired as coincidence, Neria Ravell could not. Random columns of light did not just pop out around Tamriel. That this one seemingly pierced the heavens was of no reassurance to her, either.

Her knees buckled beneath her, and the sound of her armor-clad knees striking the stone floor of the Palace of the Kings made everyone else present jump. Her hands shot out and kept her from falling flat on her face, but she made no effort to stand up.

"Are you..._ sure_ about this?" Ulfric Stormcloak asked, his voice quivering faintly but otherwise calm.

"Y-yes, m'lord," panted the Stormcloak who had just bolted into the Palace of the Kings and reported the phenomenon. "Atop Mount Anthor. Just... out of the blue..."

Neria heard rapid footfalls rushing away from her. She heard a language she did not recognize being snapped out, and while she didn't recognize a word of it, she knew the voice to be Mia's. She assumed Adalla went with her, as they seemed inseperable. She could see Ulfric's feet shift somewhat, and presumed he stood up. She didn't have it in herself to look up, not if her greatest fear had actually come to pass.

"Galmar!" he shouted. The air rippled around Neria, and she heard a light gasp from Elsera, who was apparently still standing next to her. She knew it to be the power of the Voice. Heavy footfalls rushed toward them from the left, presumably leaving the war room.

"The soldier spoke true." The gruff Nord's voice, usually calm - if agitated at times - quivered notably. "A column of light is indeed atop Mount Anthor."

"Gather the soldiers!" Ulfric roared. "Muster each and every one that is fit for combat, and tell them to be ready to march in less than a half hour- no, fifteen minutes! We are _not_ letting the bitch get away with this!"

Bitch. The word was only natural, but to hear it directed at her older sister caused Neria's head to lift, so she was finally looking up at Ulfric's face. Fury, hatred... pure negativity was all but carved into his expression. She knew it wasn't directed at her, but she nonetheless felt the weight of it when his gaze turned to her.

"You," he snarled, "are coming with us. As you are, you, elf. We need every single able-bodied man and woman to advance on Mount Anthor. I'll hear no excuses, and you are not allowed to refuse. If you fail to show up with the rest of the soldiers in fifteen minutes' time, I will kill you myself the next time I see you."

"Your Majesty," Neria began. "I intended to go from the start. I... I need to see this madness for myself... to confirm that she is truly so far gone..."

His expression softened at her words, but not nearly enough to eradicate the anger still etched upon his face. He gave a very curt nod, then strode quickly for the war room. Neria had no doubt he was heading for his quarters.

She wasn't aware of the hand upon her shoulder until it gently shook her; such was the curse of heavy armor. She looked up at the hand, saw the dark flesh covering it.

"Will you be alright, Neria?" Elsera's voice was one of concern.

"I doubt it," she mumbled. She forced herself to stand up. "I really don't think I will... not if this is what we think it is. Nadine mentioned another... I hope, against all hope, it's just him up there... that she's no longer..."

"Whether she is or not," Elsera began, "it doesn't change the fact that she was at Labyrinthian and that she killed the Arch-Mage. Neria, she's not getting any mercy... she's a criminal to Skyrim, even if her involvement with this is willing or not."

The words didn't comfort her in the slightest. The Dunmer realized this, for she sighed wearily and let out what the Breton knew to be Dunmeri curses.

"I know what it is to lose family, Neria. I can only imagine what it's like to have family turn so completely... evil." Neria heard the Dunmer crouch down next to her, and turned her head to face Elsera. "I'll never know, for my family is all dead... but I hope you don't have to experience it."

That brought a faint smile to Neria's lips. She took a breath intended to calm her and steady her nerves; it helped somewhat, but not as much as she'd have liked.

"Now come on. We need to get ready for the march on Mount Anthor."

"...Right."

* * *

"Mia."

"No."

"Mia-"

"Dammit, Adalla," Mia snapped. She whirled around to face the high elf, whose expression was one of pure concern. "I gotta do this! I ain't keen on it, aye, but we got no idea how t'deal with that light! Just 'cause we don't, though, don't mean _he_ don't!"

Adalla's mouth opened and closed, but words failed her. She had no counterargument for a change. As she desperately fished for one, her eyes settled upon the object that had made her so worried.

Mia's arms clutched the Black Book to her chest.

"But... but Hermaeus Mora... is involving him really such...?"

"I don't want t'do it, Adalla, but we gotta use whatever resources we got, aye?" Mia's expression softened somewhat. "I ain't abandonin' this fight, Adalla. Runael was my friend too, and dammit, I wanna avenge her... but what if we can't do nothin' when we get there 'cause there's somethin' we ain't dealt with afore? What if it's somethin' we can't kill, but it can kill us? Somethin' we can't _fight_?" She glanced down at the Black Book. "If I can get a straight answer from the git, that's best, but I'm bettin' he's gonna make me owe him a favor in return..."

"...You have a safe place in mind?" Adalla asked tentatively. "In light of everything, no one's going to be happy to see another follower of another Daedric Prince..."

"I ain't his 'follower', Adalla. Not willingly, anyhow." Mia's hands shifted the book so she could stare at the front cover. "But aye, I got a place. Somewhere no one really looks. Somewhere I can do this without bein' confronted or somethin'. At best, I'll just be gone a few minutes, and will catch up t'ya afore long. At worst..."

Adalla knew Mia didn't want to even think of it. She didn't either. Part of her wanted to stay, but there was also the part of her that knew this was the perfect opportunity to interfere with the insidious plot of, ultimately, Clavicus Vile.

"If His Pain-In-The-Ass Majesty asks, tell him I'm rallyin' old friends, and that I'll be along," Mia said. "I don't want him thinkin' that I've-"

The ground trembled beneath their feet without warning, and didn't let up. Neither woman could stay standing, and they were eventually on their hands and knees. A glance at Mia told Adalla that the Akaviri woman had dropped the Black Book to break her fall, but that she'd landed safely. The unusual tremors continued for a few moments longer before they subsided. Once they were sure it had truly passed, both women stood up, feeling rather shaken by the sudden quake.

"What in...?" Mia murmured, looking around. "You don't think that were 'cause of somethin' up at Mount Anthor...?"

Adalla looked in the direction of the column of light radiating from the mountain. As she stared at it, questioning whether it was or not, something else caught her eye, and she looked at it. Her eyes widened, and a gasp escaped her.

"Adalla?"

The mer's only response was to point to the southwest, in the general direction of Falkreath.

A second column of light, almost identical to the one atop Mount Anthor, had appeared.

"...Fuck," Mia grumbled. "Thousand septims says one appears above Labyrinthian."

"I'm not accepting that bet," Adalla murmured. "I'm that positive it'll happen." She looked at Mia once more, who was picking up the Black Book from the ground. "Be careful in Apocrypha, Mia. Come back to me, you hear me?"

"Aye. I ain't got no plans t'let the prick keep me forever." Mia locked eyes with Adalla, and for a moment, the two just stared at one another.

"Go," Adalla said. "We'll all be waiting for you."

"Aye." With that, the Akaviri woman took off in the direction of Hjerim - which had remained vacant ever since the Butcher fiasco. Despite the situation, she smiled. Mia would definitely go unnoticed in there. She, on the other hand, had a march to join, and took off toward the direction of the city gates.

It wasn't until she'd pushed them open that she realized she hadn't said 'I love you' to Mia, and that thought wrenched her heart. She was suddenly very worried about her partner, but forced herself onward.

* * *

Larian and Galar had covered more ground than she'd initially expected, owing largely to the fact that they had been sprinting almost the entire way, stopping only to catch their breath. Even so, Mount Anthor still loomed in the distance... and then there was the appearance of the second column of light from the direction of the Dwemer ruin in Falkreath.

"How... is he getting... from one point... to the next... so damn _fast_...?" Galar gasped out, head up so he could stay staring at the second column of light.

"I'm sure it's Vile's doing," Larian muttered; her own breathing had already evened out, as she wasn't exerting herself nearly as much as Galar in his heavy armor. "For him, I'm sure an item or spell that permits teleportation isn't a big deal..." That definitely presented a problem, if it was true. "And besides, Derrick is Vile's 'champion'." She spat the last word angrily. "'Scumbag puppet', if you want my opinion..." She glanced about at their surroundings. They were at a mill next to the road to Windhelm. They had covered a fair bit of ground from her camp near Darkwater Crossing... and yet...

"If it wasn't for the teleportation thing, we could probably head him off at Labyrinthian," Larian grumbled.

"Why... Labyrinthian?" Galar asked, surprised.

"Because there was a pool of raw magicka in there. Same as a Dwemer ruin we dug out-"

"Nadine mentioned the Dwemer ruin," he affirmed.

"There's a pool in Labyrinthian, too," she repeated. "I'm sure that's got something to do with what's going on. I have no doubt in my mind that's his next destination."

Galar groaned, and a quick glance at him showed he was stretching his arms and legs. She realized it was becoming harder to see him, and a glance skyward told her why. Night was falling on Skyrim, and with it, several more problems.

"It's going to be colder," she muttered. "I know time's of the essence, but I can't help but feel as though we should set up camp for the evening, so we don't freeze to death, or... you know." She could see the hesitation in his eyes, but he gave a reluctant nod nonetheless. A quick thought later, and she was cursing. "And my stuff's back near... shit."

"I got enough for one," he said with a sigh. "I get the feeling you're not up for sharing, either..."

She really wasn't, but she also didn't want to force him to endure the cold alone. Nord or not, even the chill of Skyrim's nights would eventually kill him if he wasn't careful.

"Let's find a spot to pitch it," she sighed out. She'd reach a decision on that particular matter of business once the tent was set up.

Their search wasn't very eventful. There weren't many great places to actually set up a tent, and the more they searched, the further north they traveled. She began to debate whether or not they should just brave the night and keep rushing for Mount Anthor - if for no other reason than to see what exactly the column of light was, and what its presence signified.

Something else kept coming back to her, though. Derrick had said that they wouldn't need to visit the sites at the Dwemer ruin or Labyrinthian again... had made it sound as though he could... she guessed 'activate' was the right word to use. It seemed like he could activate the pools of raw magicka from Mount Anthor.

Was that what he'd done? Was he still up there, then?

"Larian!" Galar's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she turned her gaze to the torch-holding figure of the one Stormcloak she even remotely trusted. "There's a shack across the river!"

"You want to swim in these temperatures?!" Larian shouted. "Are you insane, Galar?! I'll likely freeze to death shortly thereafter!"

This reminder that she was Breton and not Nord caused him to curse, and they kept trudging forward through the rapidly cooling night. With luck, they'd find a place soon. Larian was not fond of traveling by night anywhere, especially Skyrim. Too many dangers were present at night. It was much harder to see anything anywhere, it was colder, there were werewolves, and there were also-

A spike of ice flew less than an inch in front of Larian's nose, making her freeze in place for but a moment. Her eyes darted to the direction it came from, and her greatsword was in hand already. She searched the area closely as she advanced.

"Larian, what-" Galar began.

"Vampire!" she shouted, finally spotting the unmistakable crimson glow in the darkness.

Gods, of all the dangers Skyrim could throw their way right now, why a _vampire_?

* * *

_**A.N.** \- A__ll hell's breaking loose. It's not widespread yet, and there are no riots in the street... but damn if tensions ain't high after those wanted posters of Larian that accuse her of trying to open a portal to Oblivion. As if the first column wasn't bad enough, now there's a second._

_I've always wanted to write a scene with just auditory perspective - no vision involved with the character whatsoever. Easy to do with a blind character; much harder to do with a character who's just looking down. That's what I was aspiring for with Neria, but I eventually just had to make her look around. She can only look at that one mysterious stain on Ulfric's carpet for so long before it becomes indecent. (Wait, what stain?!)_

_Mia. You DO realize Mora's not exactly at YOUR beck and call, yes? But then again, he IS trying to interfere with Vile's entry into Tamriel... could go well. Or he could keep his pet Dragonborn in Apocrypha forever, let Vile decimate Tamriel, then throw Mia against Vile in an all-out war between realms of Oblivion. ...Nah, too complicated, and for the sake of Eventide, it's like killing off Mia. Let's skip that part for now- I mean let's skip that part. PERIOD. (*cough*)_

_I wanted Larian and Galar to camp, but... meh. Ruins next chapter considerably if I do. Instead, just keep them going nonstop for a while, running like hell all the while. They'll get there far sooner than when Larian left; she WALKED to Eastmarch. Also, vampire with red glowing eyes. FORESHADOWING?! FUTURE DAWNGUARD STORY CONFIRMED WITH LARIAN AS THE MAIN CHARACTER?! No. I just thought of all the dangers of night in Skyrim, a vampire is the absolute most dangerous and lethal. Sure, Larian and Galar can rush along - but that doesn't mean they get a free pass and ignore everything that looks at them funny._

_Besides, if anyone's going to bed Larian, it's going to be- yeaaah, stopping right there._

_-Spiritslayer_


	17. Oblivion Take You

They were nearly frozen. They were exhausted. They had never found a decent spot to camp for the evening, instead stopping only to strike a fire and stay warm while they advanced.

And yet, Larian was surprised that she and Galar were the first to reach Mount Anthor. Was Ulfric not taking the matter seriously? Was he just delayed for whatever reason? Gods' sakes, _they_ were the ones that had been beset by not just one, but several vampires over the course of their rush to Mount Anthor! _They_ were the ones who had been ambushed by a werewolf! How was it just the two of them had reached Mount Anthor so much sooner?!

She forced the disdainful thoughts down and instead focused on the column of light. Up close, it was... to call it massive wasn't doing it justice. It had appeared as a calm and steady beam from afar, but up close, the column's outermost edges seemed to rage. Light arced off the column's surface randomly and rapidly, but never far enough to actually strike anyone. At a distance, the light had appeared white, but up close, it seemed more like an extremely bright yellow, but yellow nonetheless. While the mountaintop was traditionally cold, the column of light, even from several hundred yards away, provided warmth. Getting too close had made Larian almost pass out once, and she was the one in _light_ armor. Galar didn't even dare.

Their tired gazes shifted to the column of light far to the southwest, from Falkreath. While Galar remained focused on it, however, Larian turned her gaze toward Labyrinthian - and the third column of light that had appeared but a few hours after the second. No others had appeared since. Larian deemed it same to assume these columns of light were the only ones that would appear.

The question remained, though... _why_? What was their purpose?

"I don't like this," Galar said quietly. His sudden voice made Larian jump, but she looked at him nonetheless. "So far, these lights are just... here. What's Derrick up to...?"

"That's the hundred million septim question," Larian sighed. "If you can answer it correctly, split your winnings with me, would you?" He chuckled lightly at her words, and that brought a smile to her own lips.

"Only if you move in with me," he replied.

"Roommates it is, then," she said with a wink. His sigh, followed by a laugh, showed that he hadn't considered that option, but found it a good reply nonetheless. Their brief good mood faded over time, though, as the reality of the situation settled in once more. "...This is... _nothing_ like what I read on how to open a gate..." she murmured softly. "So what...?"

Galar, who had been informed of the book in her possession, simply offered a shrug.

A brief movement caught Larian's eye, and her attention was firmly affixed on it before long. Her hand seized the hilt of her runeblade; whoever or whatever it was, she had no doubt it would be hostile toward her, and if it wanted to fight without question, she'd fight. Wary as she was, though, she didn't advance.

As it turned out, she didn't need to. Movement in the distance greeted her eyes again, and this time, it was steady... and approaching.

"Galar," she intoned. "Over there." Once her friend saw the approaching figure, he too had his hands shooting for the twin war axes at his waist, but he, like Larian, didn't draw just yet. As the figure drew closer, she could make out a single distinguishing feature.

A black robe.

Her temper flared instantly, and she was charging at the robed figure rapidly, greatsword drawn. A growl escaped her throat, but built into a roar of pure hatred.

"_DERRICK!_" she roared furiously. Indeed, once she was close enough, she could see it was indeed his face beneath the hood. She drew the greatsword back, then after a few more rapid steps, planted her feet in place and swung, with all of her might, at the Imperial. "_What?!_" The blade, swung at his chest, missed as he took a step back. "_Have?!_" She caught her balance before centrifugal force could send her spinning around again, took another step forward, and delivered a second, far weaker swing aimed at his head; this one, too, was dodged. "_You?!_" Another step closer, and she swiped the greatsword's sharp edge at his legs; once more, he dodged, but this time, he stumbled a bit. "_DONE?!_" she all but screamed out, leveling the greatsword so it was parallel to the ground, then thrusting with all her strength, trying to catch the stumbling Imperial in the heart.

"What we were told to do," he replied calmly. His hands came into view when she thrust, and she noticed too late that he chose to simply fall back rather than fight for balance and let her run him through. She soared over him, and her gaze snapped downward - just in time to see him slam his arms upon the ground, push himself up with his arms, and plant his feet in her stomach. The force of the kick, coupled with the speed she'd picked up with the charging thrust, knocked all the wind out of her. She felt his feet leave her stomach for a brief second, then kick into her far harder. The force of the second kick knocked her off-balance, and winded as she was, she couldn't keep herself from falling. Her shoulder broke her fall; a fierce jolt of pain as she landed told her it was not an ideal landing. She heard her greatsword clang noisily behind her, having fallen from her hands. Her arms instantly shot to her stomach, which she clutched at as she fought to regain her breath. "Thank you, by the way," he continued, pushing himself to his feet, "for giving me time alone. I had no doubt in my mind you'd have interfered, and was trying to think of an excuse to get you out of my hair."

She wanted to curse at him, to spit in his face, to do _anything_... but all she could do was fight for air and try to ignore the pain in her stomach. She was feeling light-headed now, but it was very slowly fading the more she gasped for air. She would recover soon... she just hoped he didn't kill her in the meantime.

"I take it, then, that you know what we've been working toward. Clavicus Vile has a grudge he wishes to settle, you see... and what better way to settle it than to come to Tamriel?" Derrick stood over her now, pressed his foot against her good shoulder, and rolled her onto her back so she was facing the sky. "You've been of great help so far, Larian... you'll be of even greater help before long."

"Not a chance, prick." The voice of Galar was comforting to Larian, but a surprise to Derrick, whose head snapped in the direction of the Stormcloak. The former bandit appeared in Larian's vision, swinging both of his war axes at Derrick in a crossing fashion; the attack forced the Imperial to back away from her, which in turn gave her some relief. She was safe, for now. She was also infinitely glad she hadn't come alone. She had no idea what her situation would be if she had. "Here's what's going to happen, pal," he snarled, readying his axes for a second strike. "I'm gonna take your ugly head off, then I'm gonna throw the rest of you into that gods-damned light and see what happens. At best for you, you burn to death; at worst, your death is even more agonizing than anything I can imagine."

"Ooh, very nice," Derrick said sarcastically. "Yes, so nice, in fact, that I'll just stand here and let you kill me like that. Go on! Take your best swing!"

Every fiber in Larian's being told her that it was suddenly a very bad idea to approach the Imperial mage. She wanted to shout her protest to Galar, but she didn't have the wind to even whisper. Galar, then, charged at him, loosing a fierce war cry that actually made Larian shiver in terror as it traveled through her ears.

The Nords' legendary battlecry, said to invoke fear in even the most stalwart of men... it was the only thing Larian could think of. Despite the fear that gripped her, she managed to look at Galar and watch his advance.

"Pitiful," she heard Derrick mutter. A flash of light blinded her, and she heard Galar cry out. She became quite aware of his voice passing over her, then heard a heavy 'thud', accompanied by an 'oof!'. Once the light faded, she was able to see again.

Galar was on his back, but was already pushing himself upright once more. She noticed with horror that he was unarmed now.

"You're not even worth my time," Derrick said. A sphere of violet energy enveloped his hand, and once Larian realized what he was doing, it was too late; his hand was opened and the sphere erupted outward to no real effect on its own.

The massive oval portal that appeared between herself and Galar, however, was another matter altogether. She heard a heavy footfall that shook the very earth, then heard and felt a second. She heard heavy, almost bestial breathing. Then, she heard a vicious and ruthless howl rip through the air. If Galar's had instilled fear in her, this one seized her entire being with pure, abject terror. Her mind was almost instantly flooded with split-second images of the things she feared most, but were replaced by new ones before she could try to ignore the one preceding it.

"And _that_ is how you terrify an enemy," Derrick said with a chuckle. Larian realized he was standing over her once more, and was bending down toward her. "Now then... come, Larian. You and I have somewhere else to be if Clavicus Vile's going to even have a chance of arriving." She felt his arms slide around her stomach, felt him toss her over his shoulder. She was facing Galar, and four massive feet she did not recognize. She gradually came to realize the feet were receding from her, and that the warmth of the column of light was getting stronger. She wanted to struggle - her subconscious screamed at her to resist and break free - but her conscious mind was gripped with horror as what Derrick had just said to her set in.

He was taking her somewhere, and she had a feeling she would not be returning from wherever it was.

* * *

The terrifying roar was not an encouraging sound to the approaching army. As they ascended the small hill that would lead down into the dragon's lair at Mount Anthor, every last individual froze in place. Even Ulfric Stormcloak did not dare take another step forward.

Standing in front of the massive column of light was... Elsera could only liken it to a massive dog, but it was... considerably different. This dog had fangs as long as the tallest Nord, and each of them appeared sharp as razors; she was reasonably sure there were three rows of them, too - which meant if it caught anyone in its jaws, they were instantly dead. Its fur was as black as night; its tail appeared to ripple at the tip. Its paws were massive and tipped with claws that dug deep gouges in the earth as it moved... and that was all she needed to know about how deadly those claws likely were on their own.

Another moment later, Elsera realized why the beast was moving. There was a single figure there, down on their back, backing away from the dread creature.

"_For Skyrim!_" The terror seemed to have lifted from Ulfric, and he too seemed to realize there was someone far closer to the beast. She also knew that a rallying cry from the High King of Skyrim would have a far greater effect than a cry from anyone else. Sure enough, every other soldier, terrified thought hey seemed, plucked up their courage and followed their High King into the dragon's lair.

"There ain't no way," Mia whispered, making Elsera jump. "They ain't gonna kill that thing, and if they do, there's gonna be a lot of casualties."

"We still have to try," Adalla urged. "If we don't, who knows where it'll go or what it'll do..."

Elsera didn't like it, but the Altmer was right. She took a brief moment to collect her thoughts, take a deep breath, and review her best spells. As she did, she noticed something that froze her heart in her chest for a moment.

Neria had charged with Ulfric's soldiers, and was now doing everything she could to hold the dread beast's attention. She was barely dodging the lunging snaps of its jaws, practically dancing with death each time the beast made a move.

Her hands clenched into fists, and she charged forward. This was a foe none of them had likely ever seen before, and so they had no idea how exactly to kill it... but they were going to try anyway. The only thing filling her mind now was whether to throw fire or ice at it. She chose ice after a split-second, recalling how Runael had once told her about its ability to drain the foe's stamina and slow them down, and stopped charging just long enough to send a pair of sharp bolts of ice soaring at the creature. Grim satisfaction overcame her as the bolts of ice found purchase in the beast's right eye, causing it to howl in agony. That satisfaction faded rapidly, however, when it opened its eye and stared directly at _her_.

Somehow, the beast had known that of everyone present, _she_ was the one who had cast those spikes into its eye. The realization of that made her freeze in horror. The beast howled once again, causing several of the soldiers surrounding it to back away; many of those who did dropped their weapons and shield to clutch at their heads.

Then the beast charged at her. Each step was inconsiderate of what was beneath it, be it snow, stone... or human. Almost every charging step it took toward Elsera knocked soldiers down; many times, the beast's claws effortlessly sank into those unfortunate enough to be caught in their path. The beast was unfazed by the paltry resistance the soldiers put up against its advance, and was bearing down on Elsera.

"Oy." She felt hands clamp around her shoulders, and was suddenly off her feet. She felt arms slide around her and hold her close to the one who had grabbed her, then felt one arm release her. A few moments later, she was aware of nothing beneath her and her savior. Nothing but a sharp drop that would likely kill them. Just as she began to panic, to question what had driven her savior to such madness, she felt a sudden jarring sensation; the arm still holding her tightened drastically so the Dunmer didn't fall from their hold. She heard heavy footfalls pound the ground overhead, then heard a horrific sound, like something sharp scraping against stone.

Then, she saw the dread beast slide over the ledge, with nothing but the sharp drop below it. As it plummeted, its gaze lingered on Elsera and her savior for a brief moment; she could have sworn the beast shot a look of respect their way before its head left her field of view. Several moments later, the sound of a heavy 'thud' reached their ears, and the very ground trembled with its impact. The beast did not move after that.

It was once the moment had passed that Elsera realized she'd felt the impact. Many questions flitted through her mind, but she looked up to see who her savior was.

"Ya alright?" The unmistakable voice and accent was that of Mia, as were the blue eyes and the long brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail. "Had me scared for a second, there."

"I... how-" Elsera was wondering how in Oblivion Mia had prevented their own fall to death.

"Lotta people like swords or maces," Mia said. "I prefer war axes... for this reason." She gestured up to her extended right arm - and to the ebony war axe that was buried in the side of the ledge. "Damn useful, war axes," Mia finished with a chuckle.

"I... thank you for-" Elsera began. She froze in terror, however, once she felt their bodies shift. Mia looked up at the war axe and cursed in that unfamiliar language.

The war axe slipped free before either of them could state its occurrence. As they fell, Mia tried desperately to sink the weapon into the ground once again, to prevent their own fatal fall. She succeeded a couple of times, but the war axe slipped free again a couple seconds after each time.

Elsera, against her better judgment, looked down - to see the ground approaching rapidly. She heard Mia take a deep breath, then shout something with all the air she could muster.

"_Tiid Klo Ul!_"

* * *

Neria had considered herself quite lucky. The beast, whose attention had been lost, failed to trample her in its charge toward Elsera - and its subsequent death. She knew others were far less fortunate, but could do nothing for them but hope they survived their wounds... particularly those who had been pierced by those lethal-looking claws.

She instead turned her attention toward the man who had been spotted before the beast when they'd first crested the hill. He was slowly climbing to his feet, aided along by Galmar. Ulfric was standing next to him, asking him questions. Neria, unsure of what else to do, approached them both slowly.

"...ppened here?" Ulfric was asking. "Answer me, dammit!"

"L-L-Larian," the Stormcloak gasped out, voice trembling. Once Neria was close enough, she recognized the Stormcloak as Galar, from Helgen. "She-"

"Was here?" Galmar growled out. "Where'd she get to, then?! She can't have gotten far-"

"N-no, you don't-" Galar stammered out.

"We don't what?" Ulfric snapped. "If you dare say 'understand', I will personally make-"

Neria decided not to interfere with the questions, and chose instead to look at the column of light. It was warm, comfortably so. She suspected it would be worse if one got closer. Still, she was determined to try, for the sake of understanding it better.

As she approached, she noticed two things.

First, she was right; approaching the column did indeed intensify the heat it radiated, and despite them being atop a mountain in Skyrim's northern reaches, she was starting to sweat from the heat in the air.

It was the second thing, however, that made her stop and stare.

Laying upon the ground was a greatsword she'd seen once before... in the hands of someone she loved very much, even despite everything that had likely happened, or was likely to happen. She rushed toward it, ignoring the intensifying heat as she did. She heard someone call her name, but ignored them. She needed to be sure it was actually the same blade. She picked it up once she was close enough, then turned and ran back to Ulfric, Galmar and the harried Stormcloak. Ulfric was looking at her with concern, then he looked at the greatsword with curiosity.

"L-look, see?!" Galar was sputtering. "I-I'm not lying! Th-th-that's her sword!"

"It is," Neria said, nodding her agreement. She took a closer look at it now, and knew it was the exact same blade. "This was the blade Larian had in Labyrinthian."

"What was it you said, then?" Ulfric's voice was quiet, and the question directed at Galar.

What Neria heard made her drop the blade in horror.

"D-Derrick... took her inside th-that column of light... h-he's the real threat... Larian... she came to stop him, t-to kill him... b-but... Nine, he _kidnapped_ her!"

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Do me a favor, if you don't mind. Open YouTube, if your situation permits you to at present. Search 'All Hell Breaks Loose by Immediate Music'. Read the part where Mia saves Elsera while listening to it. You tell me that doesn't fit, and I will call you a LIAR. OPENLY. As openly as replies to reviews/PMs will allow me, anyway. (No, but seriously, I think it fits rather well - maybe not the name of the song, but the song itself.)_

_I had to do a little research for this one. What sort of creatures serve Vile? Does Vile's realm have a name/preset appearance? Do I have creative liberties?! All I got was 'yellow daedra', and that told me NOTHING. I contemplated turning the massive dog yellow, but thought 'nah, too cute'. I thought about making it Barbas, then remembered 'wait, Derrick summoned it... why should he be allowed to summon part of Clavicus Vile?!' Then I thought about 'spawn of Barbas'. (As for the other two points: no, it doesn't/yes, it does, and 'limited, but yes I do' respectively.)_

_That last one stuck, so that's what I'm going with. Ulfric, Neria, Elsera and Co. all just fought a 'spawn of Barbas'. Because I'm sure Barbas isn't a sweet-looking and cuddly-looking dog in Clavicus Vile's realm; I'm sure he's much more vicious and terrifying, right? RIGHT? (Please let that be the case, or I'll never take Vile seriously again. Seriously.) So the 'spawn of Barbas' is sort of a microcosm of how I envision Barbas' true form. Sort of. More a similarity than anything._

_I almost did have it so Derrick could teleport wherever the fuck he wants, but then he becomes an impossible dude to beat. 'Oh snap, I'm in trouble? BETTER TELEPORT TO SAFETY.' (I hate that 'tactic' anyway; pisses me off so much. YOU HEAR ME ABRA?! I HATE THAT BULLSHIT SO MUCH! GET IN THE FUCKING BALL, STAY IN THE FUCKING BALL, OR SO HELP ME I'LL- oh look, I caught you. Yay! We're gonna be best buddies for- wait, what was I on about again? Oh, right.)_

_How does one inspire fear in a brave (or foolish) soul? Throw something huge and massive at them, and give it the ability to do what they do far better. As an aside, I didn't capitalize 'battlecry' on purpose. It seems weak to call a common term something... official, like a title. Seriously, can you imagine someone shouting 'Galar, use Battlecry!' How intimidating is that? Now, back in Flames, giving Highborn the 'title' treatment made it seem... well, it fit. Capitalizing Battlecry and calling it a title? Yeah, not so much. Same deal with Adrenaline Rush - except I haven't introduced that just yet, and don't know if I will. Juuust putting that out there. To, you know... um, dry? (Sequel to Eventide confirmed?)_

_-Spiritslayer_


	18. Searching For A Trail

They had no leads. The truth had outed itself, but they had no leads to further hinder the insidious plot to usher Clavicus Vile into Tamriel. It was infuriating for all involved, but Neria was most frustrated.

The Imperial mage named Derrick had kidnapped her older sister. Until she could get her hands on Derrick's neck or Dawnbreaker through his chest, she could not rest easily. Simultaneously, however, she had no clue where to begin. Elsera seemed convinced she could find a lead, a possible answer, at the College. Neria wasn't sure why, but then again, Elsera _had_ come back with a warning that suggested a Daedric Prince was up to no good... from nothing. If anyone could pull a potential answer or lead from thin air, it would be Elsera... or whomever did it for her.

Neria longed for a drink at Candlehearth Hall, or a chance to just lose herself in the mind-numbing work at the White Phial, even if for a while. She almost missed Nurelion's snippy attitude; she definitely missed Quintis. For even a brief moment, she just wanted to forget she'd had anything to do with this whole bandit thing... it had escalated into something she'd never dreamed possible, let alone something she'd ever be part of.

She did not like being at Ulfric Stormcloak's beck and call, especially considering she was originally supposed to have nothing to do with him; his rather racist attitude definitely did not improve her first impression of him, either. He'd since earned her respect, but to her, he was always going to be 'the xenophobic High King of Skyrim'. She was doubly irritated that he all but denied her a chance to relax and unwind since she'd first begun working for him.

Perhaps he finally noticed the impact her collective exhaustion was having on her ability to work or function on the whole; he granted her a day off, a chance to rest her mind and relax. To that end, she'd spent most of her day off in the White Phial, catching up with Quintis, enduring Nurelion's coarse comments, and otherwise helping out around the shop. Once they closed, she was off to Candlehearth Hall, more than ready for a drink or three to help her forget, even briefly, what had transpired.

"You look like someone who can hold their liquor!" The speaker was a man with black hair in a black robe, and he'd addressed her a few seconds after she sat down next to him and slumped forward, resting her head on her crossed arms. The exclamation made her glance at the man. "How would you like to take part in a drinking contest to win a staff?"

At first, she was going to decline. She had no interest in collecting a staff, especially not as a result of a drinking contest... but then she thought about it a moment longer. Hadn't she come all this way out to Candlehearth Hall to have a drink or three? She glanced at her arms for a moment, then back at the man.

"Alright, sure." The drinking would be just what she needed, and if she won, then she'd get a staff; if not, no big deal. There really was no possible downside to this that she could see.

"Excellent!" he beamed. "Oh yeah, by the way, my name's Sam. Sam Guevenne."

"Neria," she replied, nodding at him. "Ne..." She hesitated, not sure how the use of her birth name would affect him.

"Neria...?" he urged. He was not letting this go.

"...Ravell," she murmured quietly, so as not to catch anyone else's attention.

"Nice to meet you, friend!" he proclaimed. "Now then, how about that contest?" His cheerful disposition was certainly catchy; she found a smile creeping to her lips.

"This is my first drinking contest," she admitted, "but I think I've got this."

"Hah! Spoken like a true rookie!" Sam grinned. "Alright then, I've got this really special brew, packs a big punch. Still up for it?"

"Trying to scare me away?" she taunted.

"Is it working?" he said, quirking a brow.

"Not in the slightest," she chuckled. "Now stop delaying, Sam, or I'll think you're afraid of losing your precious staff."

"Very funny," he mused. "I'll start us off, then!"

* * *

"Augur!" Elsera shouted. She was in the chamber once more, the pit before her. Unlike last time, the pit did not glow blue. "Augur, answer me! I need to talk to you!" Still nothing. She was starting to wonder if she was being ignored; it would certainly fit his superiority complex. Her hands still balled into fists, though, and she drew a deep breath. For a second, she considered shouting again, but let the breath out in a slow sigh. She spun on her heel and stalked toward the door.

She stopped before she could open the door, however, and glanced over her shoulder at the pit. Had she tried everything? She wondered about that. She bit her lower lip. It was clear he wasn't answering her calls... what if she...?

She spun fire and ice in her hands, then carefully tried to focus them together. It was her first time trying such a thing - and, as she expected, it faltered, winking out. She tried once again, this time trying to blend them together somehow. It faltered once more, and she grumbled under her breath. She'd start small, then. She launched a bolt of fire into the pit. Nothing happened, to her dismay. She tried ice next, thinking the blue associated with water and ice may have an effect. It didn't.

She tried various combinations: fire and frost, frost and shock, fire and shock... none of it worked out for her. The one she really wanted to try that was not working in the slightest - fire, frost and shock - was not cooperating. Still, she was determined to try it. Which of the elements blended easiest...? Fire and shock...? They both made sparks... She'd try combining them, then.

"Look at the industrious student," greeted her, making her jump. She glanced up to see the pit glowing blue.

"Where were you?" she growled.

"Not now. What, exactly, are you working on? Or were you working on, anyway?" he added, as if noting she'd dismissed the magics from her hands.

"Just... I don't know. I thought I could... 'wake' you, or something, and thought combinations of..."

"Fire, frost and shock together," he said. "Intriguing. That's not been done since the days of the Oblivion Crisis. Properly combined, it's a devastating spell to be struck with. Few have tried it; those that did failed and blew themselves up."

She stared at the pit's glow. It was uncharacteristic of the Augur to speak so... well, not in riddles.

"I mastered it, once. I can guide you through the steps, if you want."

She blinked at the offer, then considered it a moment longer. She really had nothing to lose, but definitely something to gain.

"Alright," she said after a long pause. "So how do I-"

"First, let me see your best attempt. Try again."

She blinked, but ultimately complied. She went with fire and shock, thinking it would be best. She concentrated both into her palms, then began to bring her hands together.

"Wrong. That is exactly how the others blew themselves up." The Augur's words stopped her. "You have the right idea, but do not force them to merge."

"What, let them merge of their own volition?" she shot back.

"I need a body... put your hand in the pit."

She stared into the pit. Those words were quite ominous, but he was trying to help... what was he...? She hesitated briefly, then complied. Her fingers brushed the bottom of the pit, and she gasped. It felt like ashes, but they were cold as ice.

"Hold your other hand out in front of you," he instructed. She complied, and a moment later, she watched fire wrap around her wrist. She stared as ice covered her fingers, then felt the crackle of lightning in her palm. Then she watched as the fire flew forward, engulfed the ice, then continued forth; as it did, she noticed the ice was gone from her fingers. She couldn't see it, but she imagined the fire and ice had connected with the lightning. A brief flash radiated from her palm, and she stared, wide-eyed, as the magical bolt of three elements flew from her palm and into the wall on the far side of the chamber. There was no scorching blast, no frigid shattering sound, no crackle of lightning or a thundering boom... just a flash of white light. When the blast dissipated, she saw the point of impact had been stained white.

"What-"

"In the days of the Oblivion Crisis, I believe it was called 'Wizard's Fury'. In this day and age, you may yet be able to call it something else, should you manage to perfect it yourself. A blast of magic that strikes the foe with all three elements, exploiting multiple weaknesses and overcoming many resistances and, in some cases, immunities. That was Wizard's Fury. What I demonstrated, however, was something far stronger... pure magicka, no element. Very similar to what you saw in Labyrinthian, except not... 'wild', as you called it. Nothing resists it, and no immunity to pure magicka exists in this day and age. No natural creature resists it, and there are no means of crafting such immunity in this era. Yet."

Power. That spell was pure power. Elsera's hand clenched slowly, and she tried to envision all she could do with such a power under her command... how much evil she could purge, how many people she could protect-

"Yours is a noble soul," he mused. "Not all who know how about pure magicka seek to wield it for good." A sound like a sigh echoed through the room. "I, sadly, was not one of those number. I once sought to wield it for my own selfish purposes, and damn everyone else. I mastered the art of small bolts of pure magicka, but tried for something stronger... larger. I came down here, to this very chamber, and drew a ritual circle in this very pit. I endeavored to perfect what I thought was a unique power, something I believed I had invented. I believed there were no limits to what I could do, what I could accomplish... what I could become." A chuckle echoed through the room. "I was right in the last regard," he continued. "There was an error in the ritual circle, something I had overlooked in my eager haste. I invoked my power... and it tore my body to nothingness. My body perished... burned to the ashes you see within this circle. Yet... I lived. My spirit remained, not as a ghost. I became... something more than human, a living creature... but I was not dead, either."

She blinked at all he said. It was quite a bit to take in... and it as also the most he'd ever said to her in a single go.

"One such as you does not deserve to suffer the same fate I did. To that end, I shall ensure you get this right and master it." His pit - his grave, his ashes - pulsed brightly for a moment. "Now, recall what I did. Try and replicate it."

She looked at her outstretched hand, and tried to recreate it. A ring of fire about her wrist... it took some effort, but she ultimately succeeded in creating it.

"Good. Next step."

She tried to line her fingers with ice, but felt a sharp stabbing pain in her hand instead. She cried out, and all at once, the ring of fire and the tiny slivers of ice she'd created were gone; all that remained was a small cut on the back of her hand.

"What was...?" she murmured, eyeing the cut. It hurt, but it didn't bleed; in fact, it was already starting to heal over.

"The most common mistake to make," he intoned. "Focus on too much at once, and the powers clash together as you try to form them. Their clash internalizes... I imagine I don't need to tell you the rest."

"Then how do I do this?" she asked, looking into the pit.

"Trust." He offered no further explanation.

"...Excuse me?"

"Trust the ring of fire will not disappear. Trust your ice-encrusted fingers will not break the frost coating them. Trust the sparks at your palm will not fly wildly and out of control. Once they are formed, trust they will hold their form... and push them from your consciousness. Focus only one one thing at a time."

She sighed softly, and prepared to try again. As she moved her hand, though, she felt the pain jolt through her hand for a brief moment once more. It caused her to wince, and she hesitated.

"Ignore everything else," he instructed. "Push everything out, anything that could distract you and cost you the spell - and thus, your life."

She once again began to form the ring of fire around her wrist, and gave a small nod as it completed... but wasn't sure if it would hold if she released her focus from it. It was counterproductive to all she'd ever learned before, about concentration to maintain a spell. The ring of fire was a spell... wasn't it?

She only had one way to find out. Without another thought, she released the spell from her focus, and quickly began to line her fingers with ice.

As she did so, she notice the ring of fire remained. Her hopes soared, and she continued her slow but steady work.

* * *

Mia was in Candlehearth Hall when Neria had arrived. On any other day, she'd have greeted the Breton and invited her to share a drink... but not only did some man calling himself Sam Guevenne beat her to it, she wasn't really in the mood to share a drink with anyone.

She was trying to drown her own troubles. That day at Mount Anthor kept flashing over and over in her mind.

_The Slow Time Shout took hold instantly. Mia knew she only had a single chance to get this right; once the Shout wore off, she and Elsera were both quite likely dead. With their fall slowed, however, she had a greater chance of burying the axe deep enough to halt their rapid descent._

_She swung her war axe at the cliff side, trying to bury it; the weapon clanged uselessly off the stone. She struck again and again, but each time, it only bounced off with a sharp ringing noise. It was no good; she needed more strength behind her swing. She needed both arms._

_She glanced down at Elsera briefly, who clung tightly to her with her own arms. She hoped to all that was holy that the Dunmer did not let go, and released Elsera. To her relief, the elf didn't descend; she was latched on, as if her life depended on it. And it did, Mia mused._

_She put it from her mind, then gripped the haft of her war axe with both hands. She drew the weapon back, then swung, with all of her might, at the cliff side._

_She and Elsera were both snapped upward suddenly; the sudden downward motion caused Elsera to slip a bit, and she began to slide off of Mia. The Akaviri woman reached down, however, and seized the back of the Dunmer's collar, pulling her up so Elsera could fix her hold on Mia; once she was back up, Mia's arm slid around Elsera and squeezed her firmly against her._

_The axe was holding this time. Mia hoped it would hold long enough for the others to arrive below them and facilitate a rescue._

They had. Several long minutes after the Slow Time Shout had worn off, several agonizing minutes after her arm had tired beyond all imagination and she felt as if she couldn't hold onto her war axe any longer, soldiers massed below them. At their urging and promises of her safety, Elsera had released Mia and fallen into their arms, safely caught. When it was Mia's turn, she took a moment longer than Elsera did - ripping her ebony war axe free, she fell backward, felt numerous hands catch her and keep her alive.

She and Elsera were heralded as heroes for slaying the beast, which had disappeared shortly after it died; Elsera had compared its sudden disappearance with what happened to summoned creatures when they died. They all agreed Derrick must have summoned the creature; the Stormcloak named Galar confirmed the theory with his story.

Not everything had been happy and bright, however. When Mia had found Adalla, she could not understand why the high elf seemed so furious with her Akaviri partner. The more Mia pushed, the more agitated Adalla became. It finally culminated in a fierce slap across Mia's cheek. She didn't know which stung more at the time, the slap or the fact that the woman she loved had struck her.

A week later, Mia decided it was the latter. Her cheek felt fine, but still an agonizing sting lingered. A week later, Mia couldn't figure out what had made Adalla so furious. Attempts to talk to Adalla had earned her nothing but a cold shoulder from the elf; two days ago, Adalla had stalked out of the city and hired a carriage to Riften for one person and a saber cat. She climbed into the wagon, beckoned Adima to jump in; when Mia tried to follow, the glare Adalla shot her was one of pain, anger and disbelief. It had been more than enough to freeze Mia in her tracks, such that she could only watch the wagon pull away and make its way south toward Riften.

Mia had been left behind by the one she loved, by the one she thought of as family. The pain of that was more than she could bear, and she spent much of her time in Candlehearth Hall now. No matter how much she drank, though, she could not forget her problems. It was probably just as well, all told; she needed to figure out what exactly it had been she'd done wrong.

The complicated part, then, would be convincing Adalla to forgive her for whatever it was. Mia let a bitter chuckle escape her throat before swirling her mug of sujamma, imported from Solstheim, and taking a long drought of the Dunmeri alcohol.

Far easier said than done. Mia, a woman of Akavir and one of the era's Dragonborn, had what she considered to be her greatest challenge yet looming before her.

How she wished she was facing Miraak again.

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Ah, the moments following a simultaneous victory and defeat._

_Neria. I'd mulled this idea around for quite some time - sending her on a trip around Skyrim, courtesy of Sanguine. It may seem to be pointless (all three occurrences may seem pointless, in fact), but it's setting the stage for what happens as a result of her decision._

_One thing that's always intrigued me is just what exactly happened to the Augur. When I realized we don't know exactly what happened to him, I decided to take some creative liberties. I also thought it'd be kind of fun to make him formerly power-hungry, only for him to realize the folly as he now is. In keeping with the contemplation of how he'd cast spells - if he can do so at all - I figured someone having contact with 'him' (his ashes), he could focus his own power that way. I'm rather pleased with how it turned out, myself; he holds immense power, but can't use it at all if anybody distrusts him._

_How does one set the stage for a horrifying event in which Mia or Adalla is involved, and unable to triumph with relative ease? Separate them, of course. Adalla has her reasons for being so furious; if it's not readily apparent yet, give it until next chapter. By then, however, it will be close to too late - and by the time they're reunited, it -will- be too late. (Because that's not ominous in the slightest.)_

_So, in all, not the most exciting chapter, perhaps - in comparison to what's happened thus far with Derrick and Vile and the plot to open a portal - but it does set the stage somewhat for what occurs next._

_-Spiritslayer_


	19. Picking Up The Trail

It was the most bizarre week she'd ever had in her life.

When she'd woken up, she'd been in a stony temple that reminded her faintly of the Dwemer ruin, and was being chastised by a priestess. After some rapid-fire apologies and some extensive help cleaning up around the temple - beyond just picking up what she'd allegedly tossed around the temple's interior - she was told Rorikstead was a place she'd mentioned in her drunken stupor.

Rather than walk, Neria hired a carriage and managed to convince the driver to bear her to Rorikstead, but wait for her there; once she was finished in Rorikstead, she'd be heading to Whiterun, and would go from there. One farmer was livid to see her again, and she assumed he'd been wronged by her somehow.

She was right. Apparently, she'd stolen a goat and given it to a giant. Given it. Not sold it, not sacrificed it. Given it. The farmer wanted it back.

The giant didn't want to give it back, and tried to crush Neria's skull with his hammer. She responded by dodging, blocking and weaving to avoid the giant's devastating strikes. She landed several critical strikes upon the giant, and after what felt like hours, the giant died.

That was when she saw the goat - or what was left of it. In the battle with the giant, apparently the giant's club had come crashing down on the goat. The goat's head was all she could bring back with her; the rest of it was just a gruesome puddle and messy pulp.

The farmer was infuriated, but begrudgingly told her about Whiterun and Ysolda once she'd paid him five times the goat's worth in gold. He refused to go any lower than that, and it irked her. Suffice to say, she'd be lucky to have money enough for lodging and carriages in the days to come... never mind the need for food and drink.

Ysolda went on and on about a ring. Neria, having no memory of the event, asked for details. She'd visited Witchmist Grove once before, back when she'd been exploring Eastmarch on an ingredient run for Nurelion; she knew exactly where she needed to go, then. She paid another carriage for a ride to Mixwater Mill, then traveled to Witchmist Grove to meet with her... 'betrothed'.

Which was a hagraven. Neria could not have been more repulsed, and saw no need to talk to the vicious creature. She had Dawnbreaker shoved through the hagraven's beak and the back of her head before her 'betrothed' could even so much as lift a taloned finger. All the way back to Mixwater Mill, she thought about how that was, without question, the easiest fight against a hagraven she'd ever had. Then she recalled it was the first fight against a hagraven she'd ever had, and dismissed the thought.

When she returned the ring, she was told about some ruined fort very close to the road near Windhelm. She didn't pay attention to the name after she'd heard it; she'd had the fort's location marked on her map by Mia once, so she knew where it was... that was enough for her.

Trekking through the ruin was chaos on its own. The fort as flooded with conjurers of widely varying experiences, from the bumbling novices to the graceful and deadly masters. Neria had one terrible fight on her hands.

By the end of it, though, her Bretoni blood had won the day for her, and her foes had all perished to the might of Dawnbreaker. Ascending some steps opened a mysterious portal that she tentatively crossed through.

The area beyond was peaceful, tranquil... nice. She followed the very linear path and found several others seated at a table, various bottles of liquor sitting upon it. Sam Guevenne was standing nearby, and was glad to see her again. Before she could give him a piece of her mind, though, for leaving her alone in Markarth, he dropped his act.

The entire fiasco had been an evening of revelry, as organized by the Daedric Prince Sanguine. For keeping him entertained and for 'being so good-natured about everything', he gave her a staff - Sanguine's Rose, an item of legend that she'd only heard of in the past. Once she had it, he dismissed her from the bizarre and peaceful realm.

When she woke, she was back in Candlehearth Hall. A quick inquiry had shown an entire week had progressed since she'd left with Sam. She knew Ulfric was likely furious that she'd skipped town, and resolved to hurry along to him and let him know what had transpired. Before she left, though, she cast a glance at a bottle of shein sitting on the shelf behind the barkeep.

No. She'd made a slew of mistakes because she drank too much. She'd take it easy for a while.

* * *

Elsera had made quite a bit of progress over the past week. She spent most of her time in the Augur's chamber, following his instructions and conjuring pure magicka many times. He never once declared she'd mastered it, though, and said that she needed to refine the speed at which she created it.

"Otherwise, you'll never get to use it in battle unless someone's distracting your foe - and if that's the case, you'll need to aim very carefully and hope nothing comes between your foe and your blast," he had said.

She knew it to be true. At present, it took her almost half a minute to create the bolt of pure magicka in the palm of her hand; she recalled how it had taken almost five seconds for the Augur, when he'd used her body as a catalyst to cast his demonstration spell.

One thing was nagging at her mind, though - an idle curiosity, at first, but over the past week, it refused to let go.

"Did the Arch-Mage ever learn this?" the Dunmer asked when she was told to take a quick break.

"No. She never asked about it, and I never once thought she needed it."

"But you think I do," she said flatly, a look of irritation flitting across her face.

"You don't think so?" he mused. "Why, then, have you persisted? In any event, no, I don't think you _need_ it. I chose to help because you were striving to combine fire, frost and shock together; this is just 'one step further'."

Her eyes flicked to the white mark on the wall opposite her, where the Augur had fired his demonstration blast from her own palm. Not once had it faded away; she assumed it was there to stay for all eternity.

"Your persistence in trying to learn this, of course, has left me curious as to why. A foe you couldn't overcome with your own magic?" he continued.

"Some... beast. Like a dog. It was... it was apparently summoned by an Imperial mage who's trying to open a portal to let Clavicus Vile through," she said bitterly. "Three rows of razor-sharp fangs, massive body, a tail that looked like it was coming apart at the tip, huge paws with massive claws... I've never seen anything like it."

"Depending on where the next month takes you, you may see more of those," he said, a grave tone adorning his voice. "What you just described is a creature I've heard referred to, just once, as a 'spawn of Barbas'. Not genuinely, of course - otherwise, they'd all be imbued with a fragment of Vile's power, and no one could kill them - but created to resemble a canine nonetheless."

"Created?" she echoed. "By who?"

"There are some legends too hidden for their secrets to even be whispered in this day and age. Fortunately for you, I caught one such whisper of this particular legend... although it was all I heard. Thousands of years ago, a conjurer wished to summon Clavicus Vile into Tamriel, but lacked the knowledge or means. He made a desperate bargain with the Daedric Prince of Wishes - in exchange for the knowledge he desired, the conjurer would create a beast worthy of being called one of Clavicus Vile's minions."

"I don't want to know how he created it," Elsera groaned.

"Fortunate, as I don't know; the details were mercifully lost to time. Nonetheless, he created the first of these beasts and shared control of the creature with his Daedric lord. This was his downfall; to test his own control of the beast, Clavicus Vile ordered the creature to shred the man to ribbons using nothing but the fangs in its maw. Needless to say, Clavicus Vile gained, while the conjurer lost everything. The beast ripped the man apart, and waited for him to die from the agonizing wounds before eating his corpse. Vile was allegedly extremely pleased with the creature's vicious disposition and complete obedience, for he summoned it to his realm. This, luckily, was the last anyone has ever seen of the creature... well, until now."

"How does anyone know they're called 'spawn of Barbas', then?" she inquired, confused.

"One does not need to summon one such creature to learn that. The hero, Cyrus, was not the only mortal who ventured into Clavicus Vile's realm and lived to tell the tale. If Cyrus ever saw a spawn of Barbas, he did not share a word of its existence with anyone. Some, however, were not so cautious... but, as I said, this is but a whisper, in the grand scheme of things. Few enough ever enter his realm; even fewer have ever returned. Fewer still have ever even glimpsed a spawn of Barbas."

"And now many have seen one," she muttered. "I suppose we should be grateful Ulfric's scornful of magic, and that those of us present at Mount Anthor recognized it as a monster to be slaughtered."

"Whether or not the spawn of Barbas was created or has always existed in Vile's realm, I cannot say for certain. All I can say for certain is that it exists, as you are aware. Of the daedra I can think of, it is one of the most dangerous to face alone - such that I would go so far as to call it suicide to try. Their size allows them to ignore most conventional strikes from weaponry and most magic, but they can be felled by such in great number. They are not immune, nor resistant... just large. It is the equivalent of a wasp stinging a silt strider; a brief and annoying poke, but no more than that on its own."

"Is there no quicker way to fell them?" she groaned. "Vile took one of his former servants, Larian, from Tamriel; I can only imagine where she may have gone. If more of the beasts appear before we can find her again-"

"She has gone to Clavicus Vile's realm," he intoned solemnly. "The only way to find her is to follow her into his realm. He is, unfortunately, selective of who enters and who stays. One would need to become utterly devoted to him before he even considers permitting them into his realm."

"So she's-" she began, fury bubbling.

"Been dragged along by a devotee," he finished, catching her by surprise. "The framework for Vile's portal into Tamriel is in place. All he needs now, he already has. It's all just a matter of time before his portal opens. There are a lot of steps to be taken on his end."

"What are those columns of light?" she asked. "Are they-"

"They are points of origin for his portal. So long as even one remains, he needs not fear losing what he needs from Tamriel. If enough time passes, the columns will disappear - and be replaced by a portal that cannot be closed, save by killing Clavicus Vile himself."

"Which is impossible," she grumbled.

"Unfortunately. To extinguish the guiding lights, however, is possible... and requires the blood of a daedra."

Blood of a daedra. The words resonated with Elsera, and she stared into the blue pit.

"You mean their artifacts," she whispered.

"There are rituals and spells involved with disabling the columns, of course, but none of it will have any effect without the blood of a daedra. One must be certain, however, that the chosen item is one they can live without... otherwise, they will find their lives... complicated."

"So we just need to..." Her voice trailed, but her thoughts did not. They needed to find three Daedric artifacts as quickly as possible, discover the rituals to disable the columns of light, and they could shut down Clavicus Vile's attempt to enter Tamriel.

"Unfortunately, only a daedra knows the rituals and spells needed," he added. That was not what Elsera wanted to hear, and she glared into the pit.

"How does that help us, then?!" she snarled.

"I am telling you the chance exists. You remember my words, prior to the columns appearing? About the rivals? You have correctly guessed that Clavicus Vile is one of them. As for the other... he has a champion in Tamriel. An unwilling one, but a champion regardless."

She thought about his words, knew they were being left cryptic intentionally. Was it one of the other Daedric Princes, then? Had Clavicus Vile created tension with someone else?

"To find the champion, seek the one whose dialect is not native to Tamriel. Tell them all you've learned of preventing the portal's opening. They will know what to do."

She moved for the door rapidly. There was only one person she knew whose dialect was not native to Tamriel. Only one person who occasionally spoke in a language no one understood. Only one _woman_ whose accent was unfamiliar, unmistakable and unique.

"It's safe to say you have mastered pure magicka," he continued, stopping her briefly. "You know how to conjure it. All you need now... is practice. That power will be necessary in the days ahead, I can promise you that."

"Any other warnings you wish to give?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the blue glow.

"There is one, yes." He did not continue right away, and she waited impatiently for him to do so. "Beware the fangs of jealousy, for they are at your throat."

She blinked at this warning. It sounded peculiar, but she knew better than to ask him to emphasize. She watched the blue glow begin to fade away.

"Ancestors protect you, Dunmer."

"Thank you, Augur, for... all your help." She turned to face the pit, and bowed to the glow.

"Do not be a stranger. Depending on which way events transpire, you may never see the College again... or you may see it from the highest vantage point possible." With those words, the glow faded away entirely, signifying he had departed for the time being. She took that as a sign to hurry back to Windhelm - and hope Mia, the woman of mysterious origin, was still there.

* * *

It was dangerous. She knew that. It hadn't stopped her from going anyway.

Mia still couldn't find her answer. She strongly suspected Adalla had abandoned her, which had left her drinking quite a bit... but had also given her time to harden her heart. Everyone who knew her recognized the shift in her personality, and either tried to talk to her - and were subsequently struck by her - or avoided her.

The only one whom Mia hadn't struck was Ulfric Stormcloak, and that was solely because striking the High King of Skyrim for any reason was a very serious offense. She was bitter, yes, but she wasn't an idiot. Instead of striking him, though, she'd verbally rebuked him, told him that what had changed her as none of his damned business, and that if he didn't want to be the fanciest ice sculpture in all Tamriel, he'd let the topic drop instantly.

So he had, though not without warnings against threatening him again.

Seeing whereas he was leaving her be, she found a lot more time to just... do nothing. She needed to vent her frustration somehow, and knew taking it out on the local populace was a bad idea.

So she left Windhelm behind. Bow and quiver at her back, war axe at her right hip and dagger at her left, a pack of supplies slung over her shoulder, Mia left Windhelm three days ago.

At present, she was thinking of leaving Skyrim altogether.

Such a trip would involve a lot of money - and she had that. The problem was that it was all in Riften... and so was Adalla, whom Mia wanted to avoid for now. She also didn't know where she'd go. Had she been thinking clearer, she'd have gone to Solstheim, perhaps visiting Frea, or staying in Raven Rock until her thoughts were sorted out. But she hadn't, and she didn't feel like backtracking to Windhelm now.

She chose instead to just wander aimlessly. She didn't care where she went, as long as she went somewhere. One foot in front of the other, and see where it takes her. If that just so happened to take her from Skyrim into Cyrodiil, or Morrowind, or High Rock or Hammerfell... so be it. Who would really care if she left the province anyway?

The first place her restless feet had taken her was a cave she couldn't remember if she'd visited before or not. She hadn't bothered checking her map to see where she was going, or where her aimless wandering had taken her. It was probably marked, and she just couldn't remember right this second.

This cave was where she was now. Its inhabitants were vampires, who had not been expecting what they considered to be prey to wander in during the day. Fortunately for them, they had guards in the form of thralls and an unnerving black hound with ruby eyes and a freezing aura surrounding it to raise the alarm when they became aware of her presence.

The thralls were easy enough to drop. An ebony arrow in the throat, and they all crumpled.

The hounds were another matter altogether. Most ignored the sharp projectiles and charged at her. All of their lunges missed because of her nimble reflexes - all but one. The hound's fangs sank into her thigh, but rather than cry out in pain, she roared in fury, drew her dagger, and plunged it into the back of the hound's neck, killing the bold bastard almost instantly. Once she'd kicked it away, she'd become aware of the fact that her leg wasn't bleeding - and strongly suspected the powerful chill radiating from the wound was the cause.

She couldn't move all that well when the vampires emerged from their coffins and swarmed her. They thought her an easy target, and so took their time trying to kill her. This, in turn, permitted Mia to fell every last one of them; by the time the final vampire realized his folly, an arrow found a new home in his eye socket, the arrowhead lodged into his brain.

In all, not her finest venture through a vampire lair, but it was successful nonetheless. It also had the desired effect of venting her frustration and relieving much of her stress.

And once the relief of that moment passed, she had a clearer mind to ponder what had happened two weeks ago, and why Adalla had been so furious.

Even thinking of the high elf tugged at Mia's heartstrings. She hadn't even been aware of the tears creeping to her eyes until her vision was blurry. The fact that the high elf had struck her still stung, but it didn't sting nearly as much as her own idiocy.

Now she knew why. For all her promises to Adalla that she'd be safe, she had willingly thrown herself in harm's way - in front of a creature that could very well have killed her. Not only that, she had thrown herself off a ledge and trusted her ebony war axe to hold her and the Dunmer up. In the end, it had, though she'd needed the Voice to guarantee the final saving strike.

She had almost killed herself to save Elsera. That was why Adalla was so furious. Mia had nearly thrown her own life away on Mount Anthor... and, she realized with wide eyes, had done roughly the exact same thing just now, in this cave full of vampires and their thralls and hounds. She had assaulted the lair with reckless abandon, and by all accounts, probably should have died.

Her leg. She tried to move it, but it didn't respond well. She couldn't feel her leg. Earlier, the chill had been centered at the bite... but now, she couldn't feel any part of her leg. She realized with horror that the chill was spreading through her body... and that unless she tended to it fast, she'd definitely die from that alone.

A fire. She needed a fire, fast. There wasn't much to use that would burn easily; the vampires hadn't seen much need for fire, obviously. There was no firewood, but there were books. She sought books whose pages were too faded to read, whose covers were cracked, ripped or otherwise destroyed... the books which time had ruined. She found a few, but most of the books were all burned already, and had no use in a fire as a result. Desperation seized her heart when she felt the chill starting to spread through her other leg and start to creep up her side. She was running out of time.

She eventually abandoned all sense of preserving the books, and instead gathered every last book that was not already burned, and tossed them into a haphazard pile. She needed a flame to light this fire with, but the torches she could see were all bolted to the walls. Desperate, she seized a random book, carried it to one of the torches, caught it aflame, then hurried back to the pile of books, tossed it back on the pile, and hoped to the Nine it caught.

It did, and she felt the warmth wash over her as the books caught alight over time... but the chill didn't recede from her body, only continued to spread. Panic began to settle into her, and she fumbled through her pack for her first aid supplies. Her fingers brushed against an additional bottle, and she tugged it out. The blue label on its front marked it as a potion to help ward off the cold.

She wasted no time in removing the stopper and drinking the bottle. All at once, she felt the chill cease to spread, but it still lingered. She looked at the bite wound on her thigh, and decided she needed a closer look. Her leggings were pulled down just far enough to reveal her bare thigh, and where the fangs had sunk into her.

That was when she spotted it: protruding from her numb leg, ever-so-slightly, was a small fang. She reached for it quickly, closed her fingers around it, and yanked it out. She felt nothing, so numb was her leg... and yet, as soon as she pulled the fang out, she felt the chill start to recede. She had saved herself from a frigid fate. She wondered whether the chill alone was all that kept her thigh from bleeding, and took care of her leg, finishing with a bandage.

Once she was warm again, she could feel the sharp pain of the bite, the throbbing of the wound; in the fire, she could see the blood starting to stain through the bandage.

She would endure. It reminded her that she was alive... and that, in turn, reminded her that she'd endangered her life needlessly, all just for a chance to relieve her stress.

She hadn't cried in years, not since her best friend in Akavir died. She had told herself, once, 'no more tears'. And yet, here she was now, crying again. She'd nearly died twice in two weeks because of her own recklessness... and the one person who cared most about her, constantly watched out for her safety, had probably given up on her.

It hurt Mia's heart to think about. Had Adalla given up on her? If she was Adalla, would _she_ have given up on Mia?

She fell onto her back without much thought, wind rushing out of her from the sudden landing. Yes. Yes, she would. If her partner, closest friend and the one she loved had thrown herself into what should have been a fatal situation, despite pleas to stay safe... Mia would give up on them.

She closed her eyes and covered them with her forearm. The fire crackled and popped next to her, the only sound that reached her ears.

"Fuck," she choked out.

* * *

_**A.N.** \- This chapter continues to set the stage just a little more. Neria and Elsera are where they need to be - Windhelm and leaving the College, respectively. Mia, too, when one considers she'll be returning to Windhelm as well._

_Neria's adventure with Sanguine was the most convenient thing I could think of to get her out of Windhelm for an extended period of time, and quite against her will. Love him or hate him, Neria's developed a sort of loyalty to Ulfric, and she wouldn't defy his word unless it was for extremely good reason - or if it was beyond her control. Which it was in this case. It all comes to its 'conclusion' next chapter._

_Elsera learns a bit more about the situation, and gets a fun little history lesson from the Augur. I liked the thought of the 'spawn of Barbas' not being a creation of Vile's design, but rather a creature created by one of his servants. I like to envision Elsera and the Augur as being friends, to a point... maybe she's even developing a crush on him? (Nah.)_

_Mia's not in a good spot right now. The brush with death was... necessary, as you can see. Her muddled mind is not prone to logical decisions, thus her leaving Windhelm and diving into a vampire lair. Now, though, she's making plans to check up on someone real quick, to let them know she's finally realized her folly and hope that it's truly not too late._

_-Spiritslayer_


	20. Stand Against Injustice

Above anything else, Larian wanted to know why in Oblivion she was naked.

Never mind the other questions nagging at her mind, such as 'where am I?' or 'what's going to happen to me?'. Never mind 'what happened to Galar?' or 'is my greatsword on this side?'. Right this moment, she wanted to know why she was naked.

She didn't dare call the steel manacles around her wrists 'fashion accessories'. To the credit of whoever imprisoned her, though, she had to admit it was effective; her arms were crossed over her head. She was... well, 'comfortable' was a relative term. At least her arms being crossed above her head wasn't indecent.

The manacles around at her ankles, however, were another deal altogether. She had apparently been forced onto her knees when she was unconscious, and her ankles fastened in place behind her. This meant that she couldn't cross her legs, which, in turn, meant...

"Where is my armor?!" she snapped angrily, not for the first time. She hated feeling so damn indecent. The fact that she was shackled in place in what could very easily be construed as a suggestive position did not help matters in the slightest, either.

Silence met her ears, and she heaved an irritated sigh. They were going to ignore her, then. Again. Even when the peculiar little daedra came by to make sure she didn't die of anything, then feed her... something. She'd likened it to grass at first sight, but it was crunchy. And foul-tasting, but it did serve to eliminate her hunger. She guessed it was food in... wherever she was.

Considering she'd never seen architecture like what she was 'admiring' at present, she guessed it was safe to assume that the column of light, which Derrick had carried her through, led somewhere no one could follow them.

Such as the realm of Clavicus Vile. Even she knew it was a far-fetched idea, and that she was probably wrong - gods, she _hoped_ she was wrong - but it was about the only place nobody could reach her. It would also explain why there were daedra scampered about the corridors beyond her cell, in place of guards. The daedra looked weak, but she knew better than to underestimate even the smallest of them.

She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, trying to force herself to fall asleep. Failing that, she chose instead to examine her cell once again.

For a cell, the material used to build it was... exquisite. She would have guessed white marble - had it not pulsed under her every so often. She wondered if the material was organic... alive. It also felt warm to the touch, further concerning her... but above all else, it felt exactly like stone. There were no sharp corners in her cell; the chamber's walls were flat, but the corners were smoothly rounded. The same held true for where the floor met the walls, as well as the ceiling. The wall to her right was nothing but a window; at first, she'd thought that meant anyone or anything passing by could see her with ease, but in some bored attempts to catch the attention of several daedra as they passed, she assumed they were either ignoring her, or couldn't see her, period. Did such one-way windows exist? She certainly couldn't imagine so, though she could imagine their utility and actually liked the idea. Of course, this also made her paranoid and wonder if the wall to her left was the exact same, except she was unable to see through it while others could see her. It was not a particularly comforting thought.

The cell door was mostly typical; metal bars criss-crossing one another. That was all that was typical about it, though; there didn't appear to be any way to open it. There were no slats that she could see in the door's frame, meaning the door didn't slide up, down, left or right. It also appeared as if the door was not constructed in such a way as to swing inward or outward, as most doors do. There was also no visible lock on the door, nor handle.

It had never stopped the little daedra from climbing through the small holes between the latticed 'door', though, the grass-like food carried along in their tails. As far as she could tell, that was the only way in or out of the cell. Which made her wonder how she'd been tossed in it in the first place.

The corridor beyond the 'door' was much like her cell: that white marble, warm but stone-like material, shaped into flat surfaces but rounded corners. The lighting was what was most peculiar to her, though: candles, hanging upside down, yet still burning as if they were right-side up, on the ceiling. Wax dripped down to the floor, telling her it wasn't she who was upside down... but the wax never accumulated. Once it hit the floor, it seemingly melted away. The candles never seemed to grow smaller, no matter how long they burned.

She closed her eyes and, once again, tried to will herself to sleep. She just wanted whatever was awaiting her to come sooner, rather than later. At the very least, she wanted someone to talk to, someone to ask questions of.

As if on cue, she heard footfalls approaching. She opened her eyes and looked down the corridor, but could see no one. This made her eyes narrow suspiciously. Was it a trick someone was playing on her mind?

"You're awake." The voice came from her left side, and she stared as the wall seemingly split down the middle; rather than fall in half, however, the center of the split was pulled aside as casually as curtains, and a humanoid figure stepped through... wearing a black robe with a hood over his head. He was very lucky she was shackled, or she'd have leapt on top of him, wrapped her hands around his neck, and squeezed until his neck snapped... or he died of asphyxiation.

"Get out," she snarled. True, she wanted someone to talk to... but she would be damned if that someone was Derrick. "But before you do, give me my armor back. Why the fuck am I naked?"

"Why shouldn't you be?" he responded with a chuckle. "Such a lovely body... you take great care of yourself." He stepped closer to her, and she felt the anger melt away instantly; in its place, fear. He could rape her if he so chose, and she was powerless to stop him. Well, she could still move somewhat; when he reached out to touch her cheek, she moved her head so his finger brushed her lip instead. Then she opened her mouth, lunged forward, and bit down as hard as she could on his finger. She refused to let go, but felt a sudden stinging sensation across her cheek; her head swam, too. Her jaw fell slack, and she was faintly aware of him withdrawing his hand from her proximity. It took her a brief moment to realize she'd been slapped.

"Get out," she repeated, this time quietly. "If I'm to die, I'd rather die without seeing your face again."

"Death? No. Death is not your fate." Derrick examined his finger briefly, then clamped his other hand over it; she wondered if she'd caused bleeding, and dearly hoped so. "You have a greater purpose than to be simply killed."

"Joy." She sighed and rubbed her sore cheek against her arm as best she could. "Where in Oblivion are we, anyway?" She decided it was time to get some answers.

"Vile's realm. It's here that the portal into Tamriel will be finished; everything's in place on the other end."

"You mean the columns of light," she muttered.

"Mhm."

"You never told me about the one at Mount Anthor."

"You never needed to know."

She glowered at him, then spat in his face. She felt remarkably pleased when he scowled and wiped it off with the back of his sleeve.

"Why am I here, then? What is my... purpose?"

"You will be the portal's anchor."

Those words made her eyes go wide and elicited a gasp from her throat. She'd read the book, knew what an anchor was when it came to gate-creating terminology.

"Traditionally, sigil stones were required to anchor portals... but eight years ago, Vile, thanks to some unsuspecting help, managed to slip into Apocrypha, Hermaeus Mora's realm. It was there that he discovered an alternate means, forgotten and clearly forbidden knowledge, of opening a portal. One where reserves of untapped magicka were tapped into, creating eternal beacons; one where those beacons had the strength to pierce the barrier that protects Tamriel from Oblivion. He got as far as discovering the anchor before Hermaeus Mora forced him out of Apocrypha... but over the past eight years, he has managed to piece together everything he did learn."

"If he doesn't know the whole process, then why-"

"Because he does know it now. He sent me into Apocrypha to retrieve the book and burn everything else I saw. You should know." He crossed his arms and smirked at her. "You delivered the Black Book into Apocrypha directly into my hands."

She felt her stomach twist into a knot. She had thought Vile was lying to her... had she realized it was the truth...!

"Mehrunes Dagon anchored his portals into Tamriel with sigil stones - long considered the proper way. The problem with that, however, is that the sigil stones were inanimate objects... and could be taken from their place. Thus, the anchor was removed, and the portal collapsed. This is how the Hero of Kvatch closed the Oblivion Gates during the Crisis. Vile, however, plans to use _you_ as an anchor, to carve the necessary runes and sigils into your flesh. His mightiest servants will then guard you, the anchor, and all that will remain is for me to open the portal from this end."

Her face had likely lost all of its color. She felt cold chills run up and down her spine, felt her skin crawl as her part in all of this was revealed.

"In return for my service, Vile will uphold his part of our deal. He will grant me - and one other I choose - eternal life." Derrick uncrossed his arms and squatted down in front of her, so his face was level with her own. "Guess who the 'one other I choose' will be? In way of thanking Vile for his gift-"

"Don't you dare," she whispered, mortified. "Don't you _dare_ make me immortal, you piece of cow shit... I will _not_ accept it..."

"This isn't about whether you want it or not," he chuckled, standing upright. "This is about your necessity to Vile's plan. It won't do if you suddenly die, many years later, to old age and his portal into Tamriel collapses. This way, he will never have to worry. He'll have a living, breathing, eternally living 'sigil stone'. Any would-be heroes who come in to kill you, even should they get past the servants, will find themselves facing an impossibility." He turned back to the wall, dug his fingers into it, and parted it once more. "Now, you'll excuse me. There are still other steps to take before you're... I'll say 'inscribed'."

Her disbelieving stare followed him as he left her cell. Even when he was gone, she continued to stare at the wall he'd left through.

Eternal life, in unwilling service to Clavicus Vile as a... a sigil stone? She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge it as a possibility, but she somehow knew it to be true. It was worse than death, far worse. Death, in comparison, seemed quite inviting and like a relief than something to fear. This 'anchor' business... _that_ was something to fear.

She strained against the manacles binding her wrists, trying to get them to budge even slightly. He had parted the wall; surely she could do the same with the wall behind her...? She had to escape before Vile's cruel plot came to fruition.

* * *

It had seemed excessive to Neria. Throwing her into a cell, simply because she'd disappeared from Windhelm for a week? Even when she tried explaining that it had not been her intention and presented Sanguine's artifact, Ulfric didn't want to hear a word of it.

So, instead of a comfortable bed and the freedom to move about, Neria was instead in a cramped cell, and would remain there until Ulfric had further use for her.

Fortunately, she wasn't alone. Nadine, while not sharing the cell, was directly next to her. The two had talked about much, particularly Larian's past.

According to the Redguard, Nadine had been part of a bandit gang situated in High Rock fifteen years ago. One day, they'd come across a lost little Breton girl. The girl had been terrified to see them, and tried running away; Nadine tried to convince the leader to let her go, but he wouldn't hear a word of it. He ordered the rest to chase the girl down. When she was surrounded, the girl begged for mercy, offered everything she had on her back. The leader didn't care, and ordered her killed. Hearing that her life was about to end, the Breton girl made a desperate plea: she offered to join them. She said she knew a lot about various towns and cities, and that she could get the bandits in and out without much bloodshed or trouble with the guards.

It succeeded. The young Breton girl, calling herself Larian Ravell, came to live with the bandits. She served them in the exact capacity she said she would, getting them to valuables, food and the like with the greatest of ease. The leader, who had initially distrusted her, eventually came to respect her and even like her; when she was fourteen, he apologized to her for his earlier attitude toward her and formally welcomed her into their 'family'.

Of course, not even Larian's knowledge of city layouts kept them safe forever. Guards gradually began to notice patterns: a young girl comes into the city or town, visits shops on the pretense of shopping, then leaves with supplies; the very next day, every single one of those shops is cleaned out of goods and coin. Word circulated quickly, and a guard trailed an oblivious Larian back to the bandits' lair.

When the bandits set out to strike a town one evening, there was an entire legion of guards waiting for them. Many fell in the fight that ensued, the leader among their number. The surviving bandits fled east, never sticking to one place for too long. It had been Nadine's idea to flee into Skyrim, where High Rock's justice couldn't reach. Several more bandits fell before they reached the border and crossed into the homeland of the Nords.

From there, they traveled south to the Reach, where rumors of Breton natives lived and under the pretense that they could join them. The Bretons of the Reach, however, were not hospitable, and killed several of the bandits from High Rock; they began to search for a safe place they could hide out. They found such a place at an old Nordic surface ruin that, according to travelers Larian met on the road, was known as Four Skull Overlook.

Their new home was less than optimal, but they made do. Caravans crossing the Reach made prime targets for supplies and the like - but they quickly learned they were not the only ones raiding the caravans. The Bretons of the Reach - the Forsworn - trailed the bandits back to their hideout at Four Skull Overlook after one such raid, and from there, a seemingly endless conflict between Bretons of differing origins broke out.

The conflict lasted for years, and ended when the few surviving bandits - Larian, Nadine, Galar and a few others - decided to take their chances elsewhere in Skyrim. It had been heart-wrenching for them to split up - they'd lived as a family, after all, for several years - but they promised to meet up again somewhere, someday, and reform the band.

Of the survivors, it seemed as if Larian, Nadine and Galar has actually survived to the present day. Galar had obviously become a Stormcloak in gratitude to them for saving his life. Nadine had been reunited with Larian for a time, but left to die at the hands of the Falmer by Derrick. Larian herself had allegedly chosen to run with a couple other gangs after they'd abandoned the Reach... but, well, the rest was pretty obvious. In recent months, she'd challenged bandit leaders everywhere and assumed command of every last gang in Skyrim, becoming something of a 'bandit queen'. Under her guidance, the bandits became more coordinated and deadlier, most certainly giving even the most hardened fighter reason to pause when they encountered a single bandit on the road, for fear there were several more waiting in ambush - which was apparently a favored tactic of Larian's.

Neria still couldn't believe it, herself. Her sister had been alive all this time, living as a bandit... no, doing whatever it took to stay alive. She thought back to the headstone, back home, which had been erected fourteen years ago, when guards were certain Larian Ravell was dead.

"You love her," Nadine commented.

"Of course I do," Neria replied softly. "No matter what she became - or what she becomes - she's still my sister... our parents died six years ago, when the family home burned to the ground. She's... all I have left, and I'm all she has left, as far as family goes."

"Excuse me," Nadine said.

"Oh, sorry. I meant _blood_ family," she mused. "The Ravell line." She leaned against the wall opposite the cell door and closed her eyes. "Do you love her?"

"She's been like a little sister to me, so yes. I was... what, seventeen when we first met her? I thought, at first, that she was just a whiny little baby - I guess she was, being eleven and all - but eventually... well, she proved to be anything but. I came to realize she'd just been afraid for her life - and that's natural for anything that lives. Long as her situation wasn't hopeless, she had no problems hitting someone upside the head to teach them a lesson."

"Like that time she hit the boss upside the head, back in High Rock?" It was a Nord's voice that greeted their ears, and Neria recognized it.

"I remember he was angry about that, but by that point, he loved her like a daughter and couldn't bring himself to hit her back. He definitely learned not to try and steal her apple from under her nose, though, that's for sure," Nadine laughed. A brief moment later, she heard Nadine sigh softly. "What's up, Galar?"

"We've got a plan of action." The words brought Neria to her feet, and she strode for the cell door. She noticed he was standing between the two cells, so they could both see him easily; she saw his expression as grim.

"To save my sister?" Neria asked. Her heart plummeted when he shook his head.

"To disable those columns of light, remove the chance that Vile can get through. Saving Larian isn't part of Ulfric's plan."

"Bastard," Nadine grumbled. "He definitely doesn't care; she's been 'public enemy number one' for a while now, and even though..."

"Yeah. He doesn't care, and said as much. He said... what was it...? 'I don't know where she is, but she is still a wanted criminal. If she's been taken to Oblivion, then it's a fitting place for her to meet her end.' I think."

"He's already judging-" Neria began incredulously.

"Mhm." He glanced toward the corridor leading to the guard barracks, then between them both. "I don't approve. Larian's my family too, dammit, and family looks out for each other, yeah?"

"What are you up to, Galar?" Nadine asked, with a tone that suggested amusement and knowing.

"You're imprisoned for being a bandit, Nadine, so this part's questionable... but you, Neria, are just here because Ulfric doesn't want you wandering. Not fair." He reached into a small pouch at his waist and procured a key. "Even so, what do you both say? Shall we head off and save Larian ourselves?"

"Do we even know where to begin?" Neria asked, heart soaring at the prospect of being able to help.

"The columns of light seem as good a place as any; that Imperial fuck carried her through the one at Mount Anthor. Maybe we can get through, as well... I don't know for sure. Still, better to try and fail than not try and wonder, right?" He stared at the key for a moment, then at Nadine, then Neria. "Listen... if those columns _do_ head to Vile's realm... well, that's Oblivion. There may not be any coming back if we go there. Knowing that... I'm definitely going to try. Will you both have my back?"

"Galar? Just shut up and open my cell," Nadine chuckled softly. "I'd go anywhere and do anything for our little sister - well, mine, considering you and she..." She cleared her throat.

"Thanks, Nadine - both for your help and your discretion." A blush had appeared at his cheeks, and Neria understood why. Then, his gaze was upon her. "And you, Neria? Will you follow Nadine and I into Oblivion to save Larian, if that's what it takes?"

"No, I won't." She paused for just a second to see the look of disbelief flit across his face, then smiled. "I'll take point and charge into Oblivion to save Larian, if that's what it takes."

"Boldly stated," he said, relief washing over his face. "Thank you."

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Ah, the sisters Ravell._

_Larian's finally back in a spotlight, and in quite a bad position... both figuratively and literally. The biggest part of this, for me, was 'how do I make it so Larian's capture was necessary?'. At first, I considered sacrifice, but decided against it; a blood sacrifice is just so... generic. As opposed to, say, carving runes, sigils and other designs into the flesh of someone and infusing the carvings with magic. And thus, the rather grisly and grim idea of making her a living 'sigil stone' was born, and it never once faltered. Add what Derrick's being promised, and she's in for a looong, agonizing life._

_Neria - and the readers! - finally learn Larian's past, at least up to her disappearance from High Rock. They also learn what's to be Larian's fate, should she happen to be in Oblivion. Obviously Ulfric's not going to care; she's a criminal, yes, but she's also the one who killed Runael, his friend. Basically, Neria - who would willingly go to Oblivion and back for Larian - needs a jailbreak. No sense leaving Nadine locked up, though... and who better to spring both of them than a bandit-turned-Stormcloak-who's-still-loyal-to-the-bandit-queen? The circumstances are certainly shaping up to become somewhat peculiar - especially so, considering Neria is basically choosing to work with bandits, like Larian did all those years ago. Like sister, like... sister? (Is that even a thing?)_

_Next three chapters are the last three chapters of Eventide. I may release them all at once, seeing whereas I'll have a single chapter otherwise. Or maybe I'll just leave the final chapter as a cliffhanger and post it a week after Chapters 21 and 22...? (Nah, I'll release 21, 22 and 23 together. Because I'm nice like that.)_

_-Spiritslayer_


	21. Crippled

Ulfric had been very disappointed to find that Galar, the bandit named Nadine and Neria Ravell had simply disappeared. Neria in particular seemed a capable fighter, and he'd have loved to have her join the assault to erase the columns of light. Still, her disappearance, coupled with the more serious jailbreak of Nadine and the disappearance of Galar as well suggested that they were up to something of their own. In any event, they were nowhere in Windhelm, and he wasn't going to send soldiers to track down a Redguard fugitive, a Breton knight and a disloyal Stormcloak in all Skyrim.

His resources were better directed trying to find Mia, who had disappeared from Windhelm eight days ago. He had sent word to Riften, asking the high elf Adalla if Mia was there; the concerned response he received told him that no, she wasn't, and that she'd not been seen in Riften either. Normally, he wouldn't have bothered, but the dark elf, Elsera, had told him that Mia had a way to get into Apocrypha, the realm of Hermaeus Mora - and thus, she could find a means to disable the columns of light. He didn't know just how Mia had come by such a dangerous option, or why she continued to hold onto it, but Elsera had told him she'd searched the College's Arcanaeum, asked extensive questions of Phinis Gestor and other instructors, and had turned up absolutely nothing; they were as stumped as she. Much as he hated it, the realm of the Daedric Prince of Fate was far more likely to turn up answers.

In the meantime, however, he could start setting up defenses at the columns of light, just in case everything they tried failed and the forces of Vile's realm of Oblivion spilled into Skyrim. If all else failed, they would at least contain this to the columns of light. None of the soldiers were particularly keen on the thought of standing guard at the columns - those that survived the horrific creature's onslaught were almost assured more would come if an invasion did begin.

He found himself speaking with Elsera more and more as strategy was discussed on how to defend Skyrim, should the invasion actually begin. Well, to be more accurate, she was present more and more frequently whenever he and Galmar spoke of it, and she offered her own thoughts on how to protect against the magical threats that may come.

In many ways, her insights and advice reminded him of Runael; there were a couple of times when he thought, for just a second, that she actually as Runael and had to make sure he wasn't seeing or hearing things. Then again, there were various differences between the two elves, as well.

Where Runael would have taken a playful jab in stride and delivered one of her own, Elsera either had no such capacity, or lacked the patience to deal with it. It had sparked more than one heated argument with Galmar, arguments that had resulted in some rather offensive terms being exchanged between the two. Definitely nothing like how Galmar and Runael used to argue.

"You are not the Arch-Mage of the College," Galmar snarled, "nor will you ever take her place!"

"How fortunate for Skyrim, then, that you have no say whatsoever in who becomes the Arch-Mage of the College," Elsera retorted. "I may not be the Arch-Mage, but I was her direct apprentice - and you, arrogant little knuckle-dragger, would do well to remember that!"

"I'm to just respect you because she played favorites?" he roared, face turning red from anger. "My respect is earned, ashskin, and you have not earned mine! She earned mine over the course of several years, aiding the Stormcloaks and all Skyrim! What have _you_ done for us? Absolutely nothing, except talk with some foolish ghost!"

"That 'foolish ghost' was one of Runael's friends and provided her with much advice over her term as Arch-Mage!" Elsera shouted, hands clenching into fists and knuckles whitening. "He knows far more about Skyrim - all of Tamriel, in fact - than you'll ever know or learn in your entire _life_! Then again, that's not hard, considering all Nords are-"

"Are what, ashskin?" he growled in a low, dangerous voice. "Choose your next words very carefully, bitch, or you'll find your head separated from your shoulders, unable to say-"

Ulfric decided he'd had enough, and slammed his hands down on the table of the war room as hard as he could. The banging noise interrupted Galmar, and drew both the Nord and the dark elf's attention to him. He didn't dare speak, for fear that he'd just end up embroiled in the argument he'd just interrupted. He settled instead for shooting each of them a glare.

"On the topic of the Augur," Elsera said slowly, clearly trying to rein in her anger.

"Damned fool ghost," Galmar grumbled.

"Galmar," Ulfric warned with a low growl. The other Nord sighed, then began to mutter under his breath.

"Have you given thought as to his warning? About the old enemy approaching from the west?" If she acknowledged Galmar's comment about the Augur, she was hiding it very well.

"The one where he called me blind? No, nor will I. Not until this... Vile business is over with. As long as the threat of daedra looms over Skyrim, I'm not going to split my forces to deal with something that may take months to come."

"You don't know that it'll take months," she began.

"You don't know that it'll occur sooner, either, and neither does your College's Augur," he replied coolly. "I'll take my chances, elf, and devote my armies to repelling the current and immediate threat. Once it's over, _then_ I'll focus on this other threat to the west."

"Are you sure that's wise?" she asked tentatively. "Even if you take no direct action right now, we know not what to do about the columns; it couldn't hurt to discuss the western threat, could it?"

He wanted to retort, but held his tongue. It felt quite like she was trying to tell him what to do, and honestly, he didn't much care for it. Even so, her words rang true... there was no harm in having a plan in place so that, once the Vile business had resolved once and for all, he could then take action against the first threat immediately.

"Fine." His hands spread out over the map of Skyrim, fingers brushing the blue flags situated at Mount Anthor, Labyrinthian and the general location of the Dwemer ruin. "Did the Augur mention how they'd arrive?"

"N..." She sighed. "No."

"Then we have to be ready for anything. An assault over the mountains, an approach from the sea..." He gazed at the Reach. "Easier said than done. The Forsworn will harry us at every opportunity near the mountains. Northwatch Hold is our best place to watch the sea from, so I'm not too concerned about that."

"The real problem, then, is the Reach." Galmar seemed to have calmed down, for his voice was back to the quiet gruff growl it typically was. "Perhaps the Forsworn are the threat this... Augur spoke of?"

"It's not impossible," Elsera said slowly, "but he did say 'old enemy'... as if it was a foe you haven't dealt with in recent years. The Forsworn have remained a thorn in your side non-stop, no?"

"That's true." Ulfric thought for a while. "That makes me think of two possible threats, then... that I can think of right off the top of my head, anyway, and assuming the Augur doesn't mean an ancient threat." He looked up at Galmar, then at Elsera. "The Empire, and the Thalmor. I'm sure they'd both love to get a foothold in Skyrim again. We haven't seen or heard from either one in a few years, either - not since we reclaimed Skyrim from the Empire, and not since we destroyed the Thalmor Embassy and erased them from the province."

"Which do you think more likely?" the dark elf asked.

"Personally? The Empire. The Thalmor gain nothing by throwing their resources at us, and weaken themselves. The Empire, however, may still have sympathizers even now, and they may want to force the Nords back into service to the Empire. We did once form the backbone of the Empire, after all; perhaps they want to reclaim their spine." The comment made both Galmar and Elsera chuckle, and brought a wry grin to Ulfric's lips as well.

"But we'll push them back," Galmar said firmly.

"Of course we will. They have already proven themselves inferior, and Skyrim has thrived without the Empire for four years. Their approach will be halted immediately when it comes."

"And the Forsworn will still hinder-" Galmar began. Heavy footfalls interrupted him, however, and he, Elsera and Ulfric turned their attention toward the small corridor leading to the great hall.

"M'lord!" A Stormcloak stood just outside the entrance to the war room and gave a sharp salute.

"Something happen?" he asked, suddenly concerned. Had the daedra begun their advance? A quick glance at Galmar and Elsera showed concern upon their own faces.

"No, m'lord," the soldier replied, lowering his hand. "We found her."

"Her?" Elsera gasped briefly. "You mean Mia?"

"Yes, m'lady," he replied with a nod. "She's been escorted upstairs, to the the Arch- I mean late Arch-Mage's spare room, and a healer's seeing to-"

"A healer?" Ulfric asked. Relief had found its way to his face when he'd heard Mia was found, but concern was back in full strength. "She's injured?"

"Yes, m'lord. It looks as if she was... I don't know how to describe it. Mangled, I guess. Her bow was snapped in half, her war axe broken, and her dagger in her stomach. We managed to keep her alive when we found her, but she needed a healer the second we got in."

Ulfric's mind spun. He'd heard that Mia as quite a seasoned adventurer, not one to get injured carelessly. Just what had happened to her? What had attacked her?

"Forget a healer," he growled. "I want two- no, four healers tending to her. I'll not let someone so valuable suffer any longer than necessary."

"Yes m'lord." He hesitated briefly. "Also... there's..." He grasped at a strap over his shoulder, then swung a pack around to his front. It was a pack Ulfric recognized as Mia's own, and the tattered state of it suggested it, too, had been ravaged. The soldier opened the pack and pulled out what appeared to be a large book with a black cover... but the pages were all gone.

"A Black Book," Elsera whispered. "But..."

"What's a Black Book?" Galmar asked.

"The item which Mia would have used to get into Apocrypha," the dark elf said quietly. "It's an implement of Hermaeus Mora himself, cast into Tamriel for any number of reasons... but what... what happened to...?"

The soldier shrugged and opened the cover. Ulfric could see that it appeared as if every last page had been ripped out with no small amount of savagery.

"Please tell me it's of use, even in that state," Ulfric murmured. He somehow knew the answer.

"I... I don't think so," Elsera replied solemnly. "I would be very surprised, in fact, if..."

Silence settled between them all. The soldier stepped forward, handed the pack to Elsera, then excused himself.

Ulfric and Galmar stared at the destroyed book that was now in the dark elf's hands.

"You said... you said 'a Black Book'," Ulfric began slowly. "Does that mean there's more than one...?"

"Yes, but they are incredibly rare," she replied; her gaze did not leave the battered cover.

"Weapons broken, body best described as mangled, her way into Apocrypha most likely destroyed..." Ulfric rubbed his temples, processing this. "This was not some random foe that attacked her. Someone or something is determined to keep us from disabling those columns of light. Worse, they targeted one of the best damn archers I've ever known and taken her out of the fight that looms before us." He lowered his hands. "Can the book, at least, be repaired somehow?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I... I've never even heard of such a thing happening to a Black Book before..."

"Go back to the College," Ulfric murmured quietly. "Take that with you. See if it's possible. Try and find _anything_ that may help us get through the coming storm. I don't want you to come back unless you find something, or unless I send word that you're to return, am I clear?"

In light of the dark atmosphere engulfing them, he felt relief when she looked up, met his gaze with an even look of her own, and nodded her understanding.

"Good. Go. We'll be waiting here for any sort of hope."

* * *

"Not your finest moment, Galar," Nadine mused.

"Shut up," he shot back, nursing his right index finger; his face as contorted in pain.

"Seems we were right," Neria muttered, sitting down next to him. She swung her pack around and pulled out one of the several healing potions Quintis had given her before she, Galar and Nadine had left Windhelm, and withdrew a small cloth as well. "There's no getting in unless we're approved by Vile."

"Gee, you think?" the grumpy Nord muttered. He let go of his finger and examined it. A serious burn surrounded the entire digit, as if he'd stuck his finger into a fire and left it there.

Which was, more or less, what he'd done. He had volunteered to test the column of light at Mount Anthor, to see if it would be dangerous or not. He'd only stuck his index finger inside the raging exterior for a split-second, then withdrawn it. The burned finger was the result, and if Neria was being honest, she doubted the potion she was providing him would actually heal it... but she was going to be damned if she didn't try. She recalled what Mia had told her once in the Dwemer ruin - that a cloth dabbed in healing potion could help speed along recovery - and so she covered the open bottle's mouth with the cloth, flipped it upside down, and waited a few seconds before flipping it right-side up again. Once the confusion had filled Galar's face, she handed the potion to him, then unfolded the cloth and tentatively dabbed at the burn.

"Ow," he hissed at the first contact. "What was that-"

"A trick I learned," she replied. "Drink the rest of it." He certainly didn't appear adverse to that suggestion, and did so; the potion was apparently bitter, for he grimaced as he swallowed the last mouthful of it, but he did sigh with some relief. She, meanwhile, withdrew the cloth from his finger and examined it closer. Mia had taught her the trick, true... but she wasn't particularly skilled with first aid herself, especially not with burns. She didn't know whether or not she was supposed to keep dabbing at it, or wrap the cloth around it. She settled for the former, at least for now.

"Well," Nadine sighed. "This is a buzzkill. Here we are, burning our fingers off, and we have no idea-"

"Excuse me, 'we'?" Galar asked. "Stick your own finger in there, then you can say 'we'."

"I'll pass," she mused. "I like my hands as they are, thank you very much."

The back-and-forth banter between them brought a smile to Neria's lips and, for a brief moment, served to help distract her mind from the problem that still loomed before them. They had proven quite fun to travel with, directing playful jabs at one another, poking fun at various things, and so on. She could definitely see why Larian liked them both. Had she not known beforehand that they were both bandits at one point or another, she'd never have believed it.

"Amputate?!" he snapped, bringing her back to reality. "Ohhh, no. Absolutely not. No one's cutting off my finger unless it's me!"

"Good to know. Here, I'll leave my dagger with you and wish you all the best." Nadine did indeed draw her steel dagger and bury its blade halfway in the ground next to Galar, but she didn't walk away, as Neria thought she might. "Though, in all honesty... it makes me wonder if _anything_ can get through that column..."

"Living or not?" Galar asked. Nadine nodded, which caused him to furrow his brow. "Good question... seems like that might just melt anything that comes in contact with it..."

"Unless they're allowed by Vile," Neria added.

"No, I know." He stared at the column of light for a time. "Hey Nadine."

"Hey yourself."

"Take one of my war axes over there and stick it in there, yeah? I want to see what happens."

"What?! Why me?" she protested.

"You're lightly armored, and Neria would cook alive in her armor."

"I... but... oh, come on," she sputtered. "Please don't make me do-"

"I'll do it," Neria offered. She wrapped the cloth around Galar's finger carefully, then stood up and picked up one of his axes.

"Wh- no, I just told Nadine to because you're-" he began.

"Aren't you too?" she asked. "You had no problem, though. It's not as warm as it was last time we were here, either... so maybe..."

He shot Nadine a glare, then looked at Neria, clearly ready to protest. After a while, though, he sighed and rubbed the cloth over his burned finger. "Oh... whatever. Just come back if it gets to be too much, alright?"

"Mm." She started toward the column of light, war axe in hand. As she drew closer, she noticed the temperature rising, and felt the familiar sensation of her body heating up within her armor. She pressed forward anyway, though, and before long, stood before the column, within arm's reach. She took a deep breath, then thrust the war axe into the column. A flash of light blinded her briefly, and a small explosion sent her flying back toward Galar and Nadine. She crashed into the ground with a pained groan, grateful that her heavy armor broke her fall.

"That... looked painful," Nadine whistled. "Suddenly glad it was her and not me... you know, heavy armor and all."

"My axe," Galar said flatly. He reached for Neria's hand and plucked the considerably lighter weapon from her hand. She glanced at it to see the weapon was a weapon no more - just a shorter handle, the tip of which was charred.

"Well... seems like magic may be the only thing left to test." Nadine sat down and crossed her legs, hands resting on her knees. "And I got nothing."

"Same," Galar muttered. They both looked at Neria, clearly expecting the Breton to know magic.

"Not so much," she said sheepishly.

"What?!" Galar said, surprised. "But you're-"

"Yeah, well, you're a Nord, but you're not the generic 'brainless barbarian'," she countered.

"Says you," Nadine giggled. She stopped once his left hand smacked her upside the head, but the smile remained at her lips. Galar sighed and rolled his eyes.

"So now what?"

Neria wasn't sure. The only thing even remotely magical about her was Dawnbreaker, and that- Her eyes widened and a small gasp escaped her.

Dawnbreaker. It was a magical weapon, but it was more than that... it was the daedric artifact of Meridia... no, simpler than that, it was a daedric artifact. She picked herself up slowly, then grasped the hilt of the blade, drew it, and looked at it closely. The calming glow near the hilt seemingly danced before her eyes, as if oblivious to what she was considering.

"What's up?" Nadine asked, noting her sudden fascination with the sword. "Hey!" she said, a bit louder this time; Neria was standing up, and starting toward the column of light once more. "Hey! That's your only weapon, isn't it?! Isn't that a bit reckless?!"

"Neria, she's right!" Galar called. "Come on back here, let's think this through!"

Neither of them knew the blade as Dawnbreaker. Neria hadn't told them, hadn't seen a point. It was a gamble, but it was an enchanted weapon... had magic to it. It was the only chance they had.

The heat grew unbearable once more, but Neria persisted. She steeled herself, cast one last wistful look at the blade that had been at her side for a few years - then thrust it into the column.

No reaction. No explosion, no flash of light. This made her blink in surprise. She withdrew the blade slowly - to see it was unmarked by the column. No scorch marks, no melting of the blade. Was it because it was enchanted, or was it because it was a daedric artifact? She thrust the blade back in again, and left it for longer this time. Still no reaction-

No, there was a reaction this time. The blade was slipping further in, as if it was being pulled. She tried to pull it back, but the blade refused to budge in any direction but forward. Even with both hands on the hilt, she couldn't pull it free. The column had consumed the glowing magics at the hilt, and would be upon her hand any second. She had to make a choice... release the blade and give it up, or give one final yank with all her strength?

Deciding she had armor to protect her hand, she gave one last tug on the blade. It still refused to budge... and her right hand sank into the column. She awaited the agonizing pain to come.

It never did. She let go of the hilt and withdrew her right hand from the column - to see her gauntlet was still intact. Except for the heat from her proximity to the column of light, there was no remarkable change.

"Can I... do this...?" she whispered. She looked up at the raging column of light, then down at the hilt of her sword, which was almost completely engulfed.

With a deep breath, she stepped into the column of light, felt the heat engulf her. It was too much for her to take, and she felt herself slip out of consciousness... but before she did, she became faintly aware of her feet leaving the ground.

* * *

_**A.N.** \- And just like that, two fighters are gone from the conflict. Mia will definitely not be ready to fight anytime soon, nor does she have her familiar weapons with her. Neria has, in Ulfric's eyes, abandoned the fight. In a way, neither of them will have any part in the chaos to come. Well, Neria will. I won't say more than that._

_What's more frustrating than a daedric invasion? Dealing with a daedric invasion - while you're being attacked from the west. The Augur left that warning for a good reason, and Elsera's determined to drive the point home. I quite liked writing the rude argument she and Galmar had; as I wrote them, I thought to myself (with a chuckle), "they'll be best friends before long." (Perhaps it was sarcastic; I'm still not sure.) Elsera definitely has a bossy air about her, more so than Runael ever did. Perhaps it comes with confrontational...ism? Is that even a word...?_

_Mia's injuries were the best way, short of killing her or imprisoning her in Apocrypha, to remove her from the fight. Breaking her weapons was a start, but she can always just pick up another weapon and swing/shoot it. Give her severe injuries, though... she won't be fighting for a while... if at all. (You'll see next chapter.)_

_Neria crosses threshold into Vile's realm. This MAY seem like a stretch, but the Augur's warning to Elsera DID mention needing the 'blood of a daedra'. Sure, Neria didn't know that, but it doesn't change the fact that the readers do. As for why Dawnbreaker was being pulled in... well, think about it. A Daedric Prince suddenly finds the artifact of another Daedric Prince poking into a one-way portal into his realm? Of course he's going to try and remove the danger the second time it makes its appearance. Neria didn't cross over willingly, no matter what she thinks; she was dragged in. (Ominous? Good.)_

_I'm going to issue a fair warning now... next chapter, there's something particularly... unpleasant. Maybe even gross. If you're easily grossed out by reading gross stuff, I advise you don't read next chapter if you've eaten recently. Just as a head's-up, and all._

_-Spiritslayer_


	22. Glimmer Of Hope

By the time Ulfric's letter reached Adalla, she'd already lost a lot of sleep worrying. She didn't know what had happened with Mia; she hadn't expected her Akaviri partner to just leave Windhelm, though. So when she read that Mia had been found with life-threatening injuries, Adalla did two things.

First, she broke down into tears. She knew most of it was squarely on Mia's shoulders for being so reckless in the first place, but part of the blame was also on her shoulders. If she'd just... spoken to Mia, if she hadn't slapped her, _if she'd just been there for her_...

Once her tears dried, Adalla hurriedly assembled a pack and paid for a carriage to Windhelm. She had wanted to make her partner think, to make her realize that putting her life in danger was the problem, not make her do it even more...! She needed to get to Windhelm and, at the very least, be by Mia's side, to let her know that she hadn't abandoned Mia... and, if she was awake, try and vocalize the point she'd tried to make... which she should have done from the start.

The carriage hadn't even come to a complete stop before she jumped out of the back and ran across the bridge leading to the city. The guards outside apparently recognized her, because they moved and opened the gates for her so she could just keep going; she gave them an appreciative nod and continued on her way.

She did not stop until she reached the throne, upon which Ulfric was sitting.

"She's upstairs. I'll get one of the guards to lead you to her."

She gave a nod while he beckoned a guard to guide her, too winded to actually say anything for the time being. He seemed to understand, though, for he gave a nod that suggested such.

Only once Adalla was in Runael's former quarters, during her visits to the city, did she allow herself to sit in any shape, way or form... except she didn't sit so much as she did fall to her hands and knees.

There were two healers tending to Mia's right leg... or what was left of it. Adalla realized, with horror, that it appeared as if several large bites had been taken out of her leg. She wondered, wildly, how she had even survived such a wound. As she looked her partner over, she realized there were other severe injuries... and that Ulfric's letter describing them as 'life-threatening' was completely and utterly accurate. They appeared diminished - she assumed that was owing to the medical treatment of healers - but she could tell they had once been far, far worse.

Mia's right hand was completely gone, a stump where it once was. She could tell from the uneven surface of the stump that it had not been cut off, but possibly... bitten off. She shuddered to think what sort of creature could do that.

There were bandages all around Mia's stomach - and if the small bloodstain just below her heart was any indicator, she had come dangerously close to suffering a fatal blow. Adalla also realized that although the bloodstain on the bandage was small, it had no doubt been much, much larger in the earlier days of caring for her.

There were deep gashes along Mia's left and right biceps - or so the high elf assumed, anyway; there were stitches all along her arm... and there were many, suggesting long gashes, as well. A quick glance at Mia's cheek revealed stitches there, as well.

It was too much for Adalla. This was the worst she'd ever seen Mia look... and it was probably the worst she'd ever look. She had suffered serious injuries before, but nothing like this. Adalla silently pulled up a chair at Mia's left side, sat down next to her, and clasped Mia's remaining hand in both of her own.

This had all happened... when Adalla wasn't there for her. That was not lost on the Altmer. Because she'd made one poor decision, her partner - one of the best adventurers she'd ever seen - would likely never adventure again. Even despite the care she was receiving, there were no guarantees that Mia - the woman she loved - would even live through her injuries... or even wake again.

She released Mia's hand, crossed her arms upon the bed, and rested her face upon her forearms... and wept. There was no heavy sobbing, no sound whatsoever... just silent tears streaming down her face.

_Fuck_, she thought bitterly.

* * *

The good news was that Larian had been right in her assessment. Apparently, nobody had ever thought a prisoner would get the idea to forcibly shift the shackles away from each other, as she'd done. It had not been easy, considering her arms had been crossed over her head, but she'd managed to shift the shackles in the wall so her arms were no longer crossed, then went from there. She'd managed to pull the shackles free of the wall - so while she still wore them, they were no longer holding her in place. With her hands free, it as no difficult matter to unfasten the shackles at her ankles. She was free, if only partially.

The bad news was that she couldn't pull the wall open as Derrick had. The walls felt like stone, true, but her fingers were able to dig, ever-so-slightly, into the material, such that she could actually make an indent. That, unfortunately, was all she could do. There was no budging the wall anywhere. Even the other two walls had the same sort of thing, but they, too, refused to budge.

At least she could stretch out her arms and legs again - not to mention close her legs for a change. That forced stance had been far too uncomfortable, and for more than one reason. She hugged her knees to her chest and sighed quietly. She just had to wait for... something. Derrick to visit so she could strangle him, a stray daedra to come too close to the latticed bars, herself to nod off and wake up- no, the last one, she didn't want to do. Now, she was afraid that if she did, she'd wake up in that humiliating position again - if not a more humiliating one. She had to force herself to stay awake.

Easier said than done. There was nothing to do. The bindings at her wrists weren't proving so easy to remove as the ones that had held her ankles; she wondered what the difference was. The thought crossed her mind that, since they'd been pulled from the wall, they couldn't be removed; that theory fit with the belief that the cell was made of living material, and meant the manacles would have lived, too. Of course, she didn't hold a lot of faith that the material was actually alive, so she wasn't sure what the reason was. There were only so many songs she could tap out on the soft floor of her cell before she-

Her eyes widened, and her fingers pressed against the floor. It was... soft in the middle, unusually so. She pressed her fingers against it experimentally, and found it far easier to push the material in that spot. She began to poke her fingers around the spot; in the immediate vicinity, it was soft, but the further away she got, the more stone-like it became. If she was judging this right... there was probably something beneath her, like a hole. Would it be big enough for her to fit in, though...?

She wasn't going to sit around, not when she had this possible escape route to pursue. Her fingers dug into the floor once more, and she managed to rip the material open. Utter darkness met her gaze. If it was a hole, it was a very deep one. That... was going to be one painful drop if there was nothing soft to catch her below.

Still, the thought of being forcibly given eternal life as an anchor for Vile's portal was not enticing. Between that and falling to her death... she'd choose 'death by fall'. Without another thought, she swung her feet into the hole, then began to lower herself down. Once her upper body was all that was above the hole, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes - and let go.

A couple seconds after she started to fall, panic set in. She was suddenly regretting making this decision. What if she _did_ die? Gods, she hoped it would be instant... but it would hurt anyway, right? Well, so would being engraved with- She tried to force the conflicting thoughts down, not wanting her panic to escalate any further. Whatever happened would happen.

To her relief, she felt her body sink into something soft. Her fall had been broken, and she was alive. She began to move, to try and dig herself out of... whatever she'd landed in. That was when the stench hit her, and she began to gag. Her eyes were closed, but out of curiosity, she opened them.

The only thing she could think of was bodily waste. It certainly looked and smelled like it... and she was practically buried in a huge pile of it. Her body began to react instantly, and before she could control it, she was vomiting.

That would have made the hole a waste disposal sort of thing. Wonderful.

Once she recovered, she hurriedly pulled herself free. Her feet came into contact with cool, damp stone; her hands began to wipe off as much of the literal shit covering her as she could without smearing it over her. Once she felt she was wiped off sufficiently, she began to look around desperately for anything she could wash herself off with... then instantly dismissed the thought. No doubt these were basically sewers... and thus, any liquid would be absolutely foul.

The only way she could see herself getting through this was to take a deep breath, fight down the urge to retch, and hold it. Then, she'd run, and run, and run... until she needed to take another breath.

Yes, this was definitely Oblivion; of that, she was assured. Only Oblivion would have an escape route into a pile of excrement. At least it _had_ an escape route... for that much, at least, she was grateful.

* * *

"_Damn Meridia._" The words were what woke Neria. "_Should have suspected she'd have a problem with me entering Tamriel._" The voice was one she didn't recognize, but it did seemingly echo all around her, much like Meridia's had at her shrine. The words themselves told her much about who it likely was and where she likely was.

"Clavicus Vile," she murmured. She opened one eye, preparing herself for a horrendous scene.

She was not, then, expecting to see a countryside plain stretching out before her. The scene was... _tranquil_. There was grass beneath her and stretching out as far as the eye could see; it was blue, but it looked and felt like grass nonetheless. A quick glance skyward revealed a blend of warm pink and orange, much like a Tamriel sky during sunset. She pushed herself upright to make sure she was seeing things right. Another look revealed a tree with ruby leaves looming directly overhead. A glance at its trunk revealed the first Oblivion-like thing she could think of - a fiery crack at its base, flames licking at the wood... yet despite that, the tree did not burn.

"_Very good, mortal. It's not often I get... unannounced visitors. To what do I owe the pleasure, on the eve of my visit?_"

"I came for my sister," she replied. She pushed herself to her feet, then glanced around for Dawnbreaker. The glowing blade was laying a fair distance to her right; she moved toward the daedric artifact, then picked it up carefully. "And I'm stopping your foolish plot while I'm at it."

"_Oh? Well now, that's rather... brave of you to just admit. Not every day someone invades the realm of a Daedric Prince and threatens them. Is it your oath of knighthood that makes you be so honorable, I wonder?_" He knew, then, who she was. "_Does your honor, then, prevent you from accepting deals?_"

"I'm not interested in any deal you want to strike," she shot back.

"_Don't be that way, mortal. Come, perhaps we can be civil about all this. Tell me what it is you want, hm? I'm mostly flexible. Mostly. There are exceptions... but anyway. What do you want, mortal? Ask, and I shall see about granting it._"

Every fiber of her being told her not to give in, that he could not be trusted. Even so, if she could just get in and out...

"I want my sister back, Clavicus. I want her back in Tamriel... back home, where she belongs."

"_Well now, that wasn't so hard, was it mortal? As it stands, mortal, I am open to negotiation on that front._"

"I also want you to stay out of Tamriel."

"_Hmm... I'll take it into consideration. One thing at a time, mortal. Let's negotiate for your sister, mm? As it stands, I don't know where she is._"

"Liar!" she shouted, gaze snapping skyward.

"_Come now, I don't! Well... alright, I do. She escaped the cell she was being kept in, and is somewhere in the sewers. She's free of captivity, at any rate. Relatively speaking. Alright, you want her back. I'm willing to accommodate your request... on one condition. You, mortal, must retrieve her._"

"What's the catch?" she asked. It sounded far too good to be true.

"_My servants will be impeding you, every step of the way. If you can succeed in reaching her, I'll permit you to guide her, unopposed, back to this tree, and she'll go back to Tamriel. Deal?_"

There was a catch. There had to be a catch. Neria knew this with all she was, but she could not identify it.

"And... if I fail to reach her?"

"_You will either be dead or a prisoner for the rest of your miserable, mortal life. It all depends on which of my servants is the one that strikes you down, in such a case. Oh, and obviously, your sister will remain trapped here, though I suppose that's a given._"

She sighed heavily, weighing the pros and cons of it.

"...Deal."

"_Excellent! Now, onto the other side of your... request. You know, where you want me to stay out of Tamriel?_" A chuckle rang through the air. "_No deal, mortal. That is one thing I will fight for to the bitter end. You understand, of course; these opportunities are rare for a Daedric Prince such as myself. Ah, Tamriel... quite the stomping ground..._"

"Then I shall find Derrick and take his head off, and deny you the chance," she snapped. "One way or another, Clavicus Vile, you will not enter Tamriel!"

"_Bold, mortal. I like you. Now, if you'd turn your attention south... that is, behind you._" When she did so, she saw a bizarre structure, seemingly created of white marble... but the corners were rounded. "_The only way into the sewers where your sister is hiding lies within that structure. Many of my servants also patrol its halls, and you are very likely to run into several of them. Good luck, mortal._"

* * *

_**A.N.** \- Here we are, my friends... the eve of the end._

_As an aside, I DID warn against reading this chapter with a full stomach if you get queasy easily, yes? Yeah, Larian dropping into literal shit was the part I was warning about. That and her throwing up, but still. I hope it wasn't extremely off-putting, but there wasn't much else I could imagine sticking that far below her._

_I also DID mention Mia wouldn't likely be fighting again, yes? She's right-handed, so missing her right hand is... pretty huge. As is the state of her leg; she uses it to lead a lot of things, such as a dash, a charge, a retreat... And Adalla? Oh, Adalla. She's not going to forgive herself for this lapse in her own judgment... not anytime soon, anyway, and not unless Mia can find it in herself to forgive the high elf, as well._

_Neria, Neria, Neria... it's a deal with a Daedric Prince that started all this madness! What are you thinking?! At this point, she's thinking that if she can save Larian, find Derrick and kill him, she can interfere with Vile's plan. He's been honest with her, too... if a bit vague. Oh, that's right; there's something he didn't share with Neria about Larian..._

_The end is nigh. Accompany me in its passing, if you like._

_-Spiritslayer_


	23. It Begins

Escaping the sewers of Clavicus Vile's realm was not the toughest thing Larian had ever done, even when unarmed. She'd found a clean pool of water toward the end that was mercifully stench-free - at least, until she'd begun using it to clean herself off. By the time she was clean, she almost felt bad for dirtying it. Almost. Her only real regret was that she hadn't found her armor, and was thus still naked.

No, that was a lie. It would have been nice to reclaim her armor. Her real regret was not finding Derrick and snapping his neck.

Even so, she wasn't going to enter the strange structure again just to search for him, or her armor. If she could find a way out of Vile's realm, she'd take it. See how he liked it when things didn't go his way.

"_Enjoying the breeze, mortal?_" The voice of Clavicus Vile made her jump, and she looked around, panicked. Had he found her? Was she- "_By all means, mortal, go on. I'm not stopping you. There's a tree to the north - your left. Brush your finger against the burning gouge, and you'll be whisked away to Tamriel once more._"

"What are you up to, Vile?" she growled, arms hugging her body. "I thought you wanted to use me as an anchor."

"_Well, I do, but so much time, effort and resources involved capturing you again... I think it's easier to just let you go, don't you agree? Oh, and don't worry, mortal; I'll return your things._" A portal opened in front of her, and she watched as everything she'd been wearing just fell out of it and onto the strange blue grass beneath her feet. She blinked, then bent down and picked up her undergarments first.

This was all bizarre. She'd been _imprisoned_, for gods' sakes, in Vile's realm. Why was he just letting her go? She tried to piece it together as she put her attire back on. What hadn't he told her?

"I want to make a deal," she said stiffly.

"_Again? My, but you are dedicated. Go on, then, let's hear it._"

"Tell me what you're keeping secret."

"_Ah, of course. I'll do that, mortal, don't you worry. However, as with any deal, it's only fair if there's something in it for me, too. What I want from you, mortal... is simply this. Go to the tree I told you about, and brush the burning gouge. I'll tell you everything once you do._"

"That'll take me to Tamriel," she said flatly.

"_Yes, it will, but not instantly. Things take time... you know, that sort of thing. Do we have a deal, mortal?_"

"...Fine. Deal." She turned to her left, saw what looked to be a tree in the distance, and advanced toward it. As she did, she tried to determine what exactly it was he hadn't told her, but would. Why had he wanted her on her way out before he talked?

Larian's trip to the tree with strange ruby leaves was uneventful, which made her even more concerned. Why wasn't he trying to stop her? She cast a glance over the landscape, eyes resting upon the marble-white structure she'd likely been imprisoned in. She was most certainly not going to miss this place, tranquil though it seemed. Her attention turned to the trunk of the tree - brown, like most, but there was a deep gouge here flames radiated from. She was surprised the tree didn't burn down, but wasn't complaining. She hesitated but briefly, then ran her finger over the gouge. The flames licked her fingers, and she felt the heat... but there was no burn left behind, no damage.

_"Well done, mortal. You've upheld your end of the deal, so now, I'll uphold mine. You wished... what was it? To know what it was I'm not telling you? That, mortal, is a lot. Ask me one question, mortal, and I'll tell you all I know of it._"

"Don't fuck with me, Vile," she snapped. "Tell me the real reason why you're letting me go."

"_Of course. You see... you are no longer the only one in my realm. I mean aside from my champion. One other has arrived, meaning I have choices available to me... and you, who so desperately wish to be free... you, who would endanger much if given the chance... you are high risk, mortal. I'm willing to let you go, bearing that in mind._"

Her stomach twisted into knots. Someone had followed her into Vile's realm? Who? Was it Galar? Was it...?

"_Ah. It seems you're on your way out, mortal. It has been grand working with you. Oh, and one last thing._" His next words made her gasp in horror. "_I'll tell your sister you said 'hello'._"

"Ner-" A flash of light engulfed her, and she became disoriented. Intense heat radiated all around her, made her feel as if she was on fire. Then, without warning, the temperature cooled considerably around her. She fell to the ground, crumpling into a heap; the ground beneath her was warm, but coarse like stone; damp, as if snow had melted.

She shuddered. It wasn't from the slight change in temperature. It was from something else, something more... something mortifying.

She felt hands slide around her shoulders, felt her body be shaken. She heard two voices, both familiar, but she didn't register any of their words. She was rolled over, then picked up by two pairs of arms. Her own arms were draped over shoulders; her right arm went over broad shoulders, while her left rested upon a smaller frame.

"Neria," she whispered, eyes squeezed shut.

"Larian?" The voice was that of a male Nord. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Neria," she repeated, trembling.

"Larian." It was a female Redguard's voice next. "Deep breaths, girl. Calm down, please... what-"

"Neria!" she exclaimed, eyes opening wide.

The column of light atop Mount Anthor greeted her vision, as did a grey, cloud-ridden sky. She didn't need to look right to know Galar was holding her up, nor left to know Nadine was helping him; she'd know their voices anywhere.

"Larian-" Galar began.

"The bastard... he took Neria," she cried. "He let me escape, but kept Neria behind... I didn't even know she was...!" They both gasped as they realized what happened. Tears filled her eyes, blurred her vision; she made no effort to wipe them away or hold them back. Without warning, she threw her head back and screamed at the sky.

"_NERIA!_"

* * *

Ulfric couldn't believe the reports that had come in. A soldier bearing the colors of the Pale stood before him, bloodied and exhausted. Another soldier, this one from the Rift, was neither bloodied nor exhausted, but his message was practically identical.

The Thalmor had taken Dawnstar and Riften.

The Dawnstar guard's report had said that they came in the dead of night, a massive fleet sailing in from the west; it appeared as if they had passed by Solitude unopposed. Ulfric took that to mean they'd already seized Haafingar, then. The Dawnstar guards barely had enough time to raise the alarm before the first magical blast decimated the barracks; they had just reached the coast when the Jarl's longhouse was devastated in a similar manner. The soldiers bade the runner to get word to Ulfric, lest they all die and the Thalmor sail on Windhelm unopposed; he did not argue with them, and took the first horse he could find and rode swiftly to Windhelm. He'd been ambushed by many creatures; a golden-colored daedra was what felled his horse. The daedra had long, razor-sharp claws, large fangs, and scales that radiated heat covering its body. It was far faster than anything he'd ever encountered before, but he'd managed to avoid its attempt to bite his head clean off. When it crashed into a boulder behind him, he'd barely had enough time to draw his warhammer and bring it crashing down onto the creature's head, killing it with the single blow. He had run for his life from that point forth, not wanting to know if it had friends nearby.

The guard from Riften had a similar tale. Blazing boulders had rained upon several of the more prominent buildings in the city; one had crashed into Mistveil Keep's roof and collapsed upon the Jarl's quarters. From the wreckage, flame atronachs erupted and began to throw fire everywhere, killing many of the citizens. When the last of the atronachs had been slain, the southern gate was collapsed, and Thalmor soldiers poured into the city, elven weapons in hand. The runner had similarly been told to get word to Ulfric by his comrades; he had to fight his way through a squad of Thalmor who were killing the horses at the stables. He managed to secure one of the three or four that remained, and urged it to fly like the wind. As he rode north, he saw flaming arrows in the watchtowers posted along the road; Thalmor soldiers had taken the towers. They had also secured Shor's Stone and its northern watchtower as well. Even so, he had pushed the horse to its limits, desperate to avoid a confrontation with the superior numbers and contact Ulfric. He had encountered no such creature as the Dawnstar guard had.

Ulfric pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and let it out in a heavy sigh.

"She was right," he muttered. "Dammit..."

"Sire?" the Dawnstar guard inquired.

"Get some rest, you two. You," he said, pointing at the guard from Dawnstar, "get your injuries taken care of, as well. Both of you, in fact. I'll need every last soldier available when the Thalmor come to Windhelm."

"_If_ they-" the Riften soldier began, but Ulfric held up hand.

"No," he said grimly and with a shake of his head. "When. _When_ they come."

Both soldiers hesitated, but eventually saluted and departed to get their injuries looked at and for food and rest.

"That ghost was right," Galmar growled next to him. Ulfric glanced at him, saw the pale coloration of his right-hand's face. "That damned fool ghost was right."

"Indeed," Ulfric murmured. "I can only imagine Whiterun, Morthal and Falkreath have fallen already. No doubt Winterhold will be next; they can take their time with the Reach, as it's furthest from us and completely cut off." He slammed his fist down on the arm of his throne suddenly. "He was right... I was blind. Withdrawing those scouts was a critical error..."

"We'd never have imagined this would be the outcome, however." Galmar paused for a moment. "The Dawnstar guard's report troubles me. That golden daedra... it sounds quite like a fiend that could have-"

"Injured our friend upstairs? I'm of the same mind," Ulfric finished. "She was found near Darkwater Crossing, though... are we looking at several of these fiends?"

"If so, then is it possible... that the daedra have begun to spill into Skyrim?" Galmar intoned quietly.

"It's not impossible." Ulfric stood abruptly and walked into the war room, Galmar following him. He began to search the wooden crates for a blank piece of paper, then a quill and inkwell. "If that's the case, however, I need to get word to Winterhold."

"Winterhold?" Galmar echoed.

"Right now, that Dunmer is our best hope of counteracting this daedric invasion," he muttered, dipping the quill in the inkwell and beginning to write quickly. "I need her _alive_. _We_ need her alive." He continued to write in silence; when he was finished, he looked up at Galmar. "I want our swiftest scout on our swiftest steed. I need this message to reach Winterhold within the day."

"Ulfric, that's a challenge, even for-"

"Within. The. Day," Ulfric growled. "I don't care if they take shortcuts across the wilderness. I need Elsera _out_ of Winterhold before the Thalmor reach it. Get to it. I'll have it ready when you return for it."

Galmar's expression hardened somewhat, but he nodded and rushed for the guards' quarters. Ulfric glanced down at the message he'd written for Elsera.

_Elsera,_

_Solitude, Dawnstar and Riften have fallen to the Thalmor. Golden daedra have been spotted on the roads far west of Windhelm._

_I need you out of Winterhold. I don't care where you go, just get to safety. Take anything you consider absolutely important, and nothing else; if you aren't sure, leave it. your life is more valuable than anything in the College right now._

_Talos protect you._

_-Ulfric Stormcloak_

_High King of Skyrim_

A flash illuminated the glass of the window, drawing Ulfric's attention up to it. He strode toward the window and gazed out at it. The three columns of light continued to shine in the distance.

He stared as they began to move toward a central point between them... as if they were going to intersect.

What in Oblivion was going on?

* * *

"Augur?" Elsera had managed to escape the chaos of the assault on the town above. "Augur of Dunlain, answer me!" She had decided the Midden was a safe place - for now. She needed answers, and fast; who better to provide them than the Augur?

"Ah, you're back. Were it under happier circumstances." The glow kindled before her eyes, and she sighed with relief.

"What's happening? Is this-"

"The warning I issued the High King? Yes. The Thalmor have come to Skyrim." She noticed he was not being vague any longer. "There is no time. There is an alternate exit from the Midden, further in. It exits into the side of the frozen earth upon which the College is situated. Use your pure magicka spell on the edge of the cliff. Once you're on solid ground again, run. Solstheim may be safest for you... for all who will yet oppose the chaos that swiftly approaches. The Dragonborn has a home in Solstheim, and friends on its eastern coast. Make use of every resource the island affords you."

"I... what-" A low rumble reached her ears, and the chamber trembled along with it. Dirt and tiny chunks of debris fell from the ceiling, coating her with a very thin and very light layer of dust.

"Go."

She turned to the door and wrenched it open, then paused for a moment. She looked over her shoulder at the Augur of Dunlain, who, despite an arrogant air, had been of significant help.

"No final warning for me this time?" she said, voice cracking as she forced a smile. She somehow knew that she'd never see or hear from the Augur ever again... and honestly, it broke her heart a bit. It felt like she was abandoning an old friend.

"Mind the cliff's edge. It's icy." Despite the severity of the situation above, she managed a weak chuckle at his rather obvious warning.

"Not what I meant."

* * *

Adalla was gazing out the window, watching the three columns of light move toward each other. Her jaw had dropped and her eyes were wide; she wanted to look away, but couldn't. She had a feeling something tragic was going to occur if those columns met, and yet she couldn't tear her gaze away.

She felt a hand grab her right shoulder, and she gasped. She managed to tear her gaze away to look at Mia, who was barely upright, yet leaning against her.

"You-"

"I ain't... gonna lay there... while this shit's goin' on," Mia muttered weakly. "I ain't gonna tempt death a second time..." She looked at the Altmer. "Shit's about t'get real intense, real fast. We seen a lot, Adalla... but even we ain't ready t'take this on. We gotta regroup... we gotta prepare."

Her words were relatively comforting, but did not quell the feeling of dread that the moving columns of light had spawned within her. Her gaze went back to the columns.

They watched together as the three columns - the one atop Mount Anthor, the one at the Dwemer ruin in Falkreath, and the one in Labyrinthian - finally intersected in the center. A brief flash greeted their eyes when they did, and a sphere began to form between the three columns.

"It's begun," Adalla whispered.

* * *

_**A.N.** \- **Eventide**. As defined by Merriam-Webster Online: 'the time of evening'. Synonyms? 'Twilight' and 'dusk'. Times when everything becomes darker._

_Come now, you weren't truly expecting a cheery 'they all lived happily ever after' ending to a story named 'Eventide', were you? No, the ending of Eventide is - and was, from Chapter 1 - intended to be dark for Tamriel. The Thalmor and Oblivion both have begun to threaten the homeland of the Nords, at the very least. Skyrim will forever change because of this._

_'But surely you're not going to just... LEAVE it like this?!' If you're thinking this, then you're right. There's a sequel planned - a sort of 'final ending' for the characters associated. Mia, Adalla, Neria, Larian, Elsera, my depiction of Ulfric... even a couple other faces that haven't shown up in a while. One way or another, their tales will come to a close in the last story of this... 'series'. At least one of them will still be alive; some more of them will die, I can promise that._

_Now, onto the individual parts of the final chapter._

_That 'something' Vile didn't tell Neria last chapter? Yeah, he didn't bother telling her Larian was almost out of the sewers. Why would he? In his eyes, she's far easier to work with and manipulate; no need to tell her Larian's gone. Neria has one hell of a future ahead of her..._

_Larian. This is far from the end of her tale. It was a mistake on Vile's part to tell her it was her sister that had followed her into his realm. Now, Larian will not rest until she's saved Neria - or died trying._

_Everything comes crashing down around Ulfric. The threat of daedra wasn't bad enough; now he's got the Thalmor to contend with, as well. His plate is definitely full enough with the Thalmor's far more obvious threat already in Skyrim; the daedra haven't even begun invading Skyrim in earnest yet. Well... by that point in the story, they hadn't._

_I just had to include one final interaction between Elsera and the Augur. They won't be seeing each other for a very long time... if ever again. It hurt a little, to write what may be their final good-bye, but it had to be done. I couldn't resist the final 'warning' the Augur provided - a little something to lighten the mood, in lieu of the chaos descending._

_Mia's alive and awake! And still injured/feeling weak. She may be seriously wounded and crippled, but she's got a part to play in the future yet, as does Adalla. These two both braved Apocrypha for differing purposes, and came out on top; what's a cluster of daedra they're unfamiliar with? (As it turns out, quite a handful; I'll go ahead and just admit that one of those golden-colored daedra are what attacked Mia and left her in her crippled state.)_

_Skyrim's future looks grim, but as with any eventide, there will always be a dawn to follow... but what more will be lost before the sun rises over Skyrim once more? As Adalla succinctly put it... 'It's begun.'_

_I want to give a big shout-out and thank you to both **TheGreatJabberyJamie** and **BrunetteAuthorette99** for reviewing this story as they read it. I also want to thank anyone else who chose to follow it, and anyone else who read it from start to finish. The story has ended, but this tale has practically just begun. Once I've established key points of the next story and written several chapters flawlessly, I'll start posting it._

_In the meantime, I had an idea about a week ago, and I feel like it could be fun... it all depends on how much interaction there is, really. I may do a series of one-shot blurbs or the like, centered around random aspects of my OCs' lives/personalities. Odd quirks, reasons why they like/hate something so much, reasons as to why they did something... living or dead, every OC will make an appearance sooner or later. If that's of interest, and there's something you want to 'ask' my OCs, feel free, and I'll write a chapter based on the question. I'll provide a list of the OCs in question, just in case anyone's forgotten any of them over the course of **Flames**, **I Am Dragonborn** and now **Eventide**._

_-Spiritslayer_


End file.
